Will you glimmer on the sea? Will you fling your spear-head On the shore? What note shall we pitch? We have a song, On the bank we share our arrows— The loosed string tells our note: O flight, Bring her swiftly to our song. She is great, We measure her by the pine-trees.
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Orchard
I saw the first pear as it fell— the honey-seeking, golden-banded, the yellow swarm was not more fleet than I, (spare us from loveliness) and I fell prostrate crying: you have flayed us with your blossoms, spare us the beauty of fruit-trees. The honey-seeking paused not, the air thundered their song, and I alone was prostrate. O rough-hewn god of the orchard, I bring you an offering— do you, alone unbeautiful, son of the god, spare us from loveliness: these fallen hazel-nuts, stripped late of their green sheaths, grapes, red-purple, their berries dripping with wine, pomegranates already broken, and shrunken figs and quinces untouched, I bring you as offering.
This poem is in the public domain.
This poem is in the public domain.