Tell them of islands where the wars are over,
Of cities where the citizens are few
And here and there the penitent survivors
Play at chess; and lovers two and two
Walk in the gardens, time hangs on their hands,
They press against each other, wondering
Where the other came from, now they know
Another sky in which their echoes grow,
And the red heart is startled and takes wing.
What do they care, that bone grind on bone,
If
the white flash will rip the veils of stone!
And for the old you'll paint the fabled crests
Where antlered deer still play
Whose dainty hoofs are silenter than snow.
An eagle's blink below
Boys cool their sun-striped bodies in the lakes.
All night, the violins and woodwinds go
A measured, mild and meditative pace ;
The hunter's rifle booms across the day.
Those ruins had an eloquent allure,
This was an antique, legendary place.
And tell the young of islands where you wondered
How long you'd been away, although you'd never
Been there before. They'll see, if they are clever,
The separation in the single cape,
Under a sky shining without a mark,
And then how suddenly the world is dark
The pines are doubled and the ocean thunders
And the storm makes them dance, each goatish shape.
To stand above the valley like a funnel
Where the wind roars with a smell of fennel
And see the curling White-caps sail away,
Moorish sails flying to Africa,
And turn your footsteps down
To where the red-tiled town
With its still castled crown
Trembles upon the Moor-remembered bay!
