Where the cedar leaf divides the sky I heard the sea. In
sapphire arenas of the hills I was promised an improved infancy.
Sulking, sanctioning the sun, My memory I left in a ravine,-
Casual louse that tissues the buck-wheat, Aprons rocks, congregates
pears In moonlit bushels And wakens alleys with a hidden cough.
Dangerously the summer burned (I had joined the entrainments of the
wind). The shadows of boulders lengthened my back: In the bronze gongs
of my cheeks The rain dried without odour.
'It is not long, it is
not long; See where the red and black Vine-stanchioned valleys-': but
the wind Died speaking through the ages that you know And bug,
chimney-sooted heart of man! So was I turned about and back, much as your
smoke Compiles a too well-known biography.
The evening was a spear
in the ravine That throve through very oak. And had I walked The dozen
particular decimals of time? Touching an opening laurel, I found A thief
beneath, my stolen book in hand.
''Why are you back here-smiling an iron
coffin? ' 'To argue with the laurel,' I replied: 'Am justified in
transience, fleeing Under the constant wonder of your eyes-.'
closed the book. And from the Ptolemies Sand troughed us in a glittering,,
abyss. A serpent swam a vertex to the sun -On unpaced beaches leaned its
tongue and drummed. What fountains did I hear? What icy speeches?
Memory, committed to the page, had broke.
The images in the poem themselves are beautiful, but when put together in the world of the poem, the connections being made become more interesting than the images on their own.