Poems

Full of hope and dreadThose two came carrying wine and meat and bread,And healed my wounds with unguents out of flowersThat feed white moths by some De Danaan shrine;Then in that hall, lit by the dim sea shine,We lay on skins of otters, and drank wine,Brewed by the sea-gods, from huge cups that layUpon the lips of sea-gods in their day;And then on heaped-up skins of otters slept.But when the sun once more in saffron stept,Rolling his flagrant wheel out of the deep,We sang the loves and angers without sleep,And all the exultant labours of the strong: