The golden journey

All day he drowses by the sail

With dreams of her, and all night long

The broken waters are at song

Of how she lingers, wild and pale,

When all the temple lights are dumb,

And weaves her spells to make him come.

The wide sea traversed, he will stand

With straining eyes, until the shoal

Green water from the prow shall roll

Upon the yellow strip of sand —

Searching some fern-hid tangled way

Into the forest old and grey.

Then he will leap upon the shore,

And cast one look up at the sun,

Over his loosened locks will run

The dawn breeze, and a bird will pour

Its rapture out to make life seem

Too sweet to leave for such a dream.

But all the swifter will he go

Through the pale, scattered asphodels,

Down mote-hung dusk of olive dells,

To where the ancient basins throw

Fleet threads of blue and trembling zones

Of gold upon the temple stones.