Idyl

Now when the tide has covered all the land, Making the pier a sea, the street a strand, And the boat casts anchor at my threshold; Now when I see, wherever I may glance, The water's victory, the billow's glory, And see the rising tide a ruling empress; Now when a playful and good-minded flood Closes about the houses, plants, and men Fondly, in a soft-flowing, sweet embrace; Now when the air, the planter of the tree Of Health, raised by the great sea's breath, digs deep Into the open breasts of living things;

Now, I remember her, the little lass Who had the sea's pure dew, and, like a wave Resistless, surpassed the tide in vehemence. Now I recall the little nimble lass, Life's victory, blossoming youth's proud glory, And joy's own throne. Now I remember her.

Her face was like a cloudless early dawn; Her hair like moonlight shimmering upon The restless wave; her passing, like the flash Of a swift fish that in the night swims by Upon its silver path; her eyes were tinged With the deep color of the sea beneath Black clouds; her voice, the sound of a calm night Upon the beach; her chiseled dimples twin Upon her cheeks were overfilled with smiles That Loves might drink from them to slake their thirst.

Boy-like, she stepped on nimble foot and free, Boldly and daringly with fearless look, A child's soul dwelling in a woman's flesh.

And when the high tide covered all the land, Making the pier a sea, the street a strand, And when the boat cast anchor at my threshold, Then from her home the little girl came forth Half bare, half clad, robed in the robe of light In a swift dancing flood that revelled full Of water-lust and crowns of seething foam.

She gave her orders to the sea; she ruled The tide and forward drove the foaming waves, Just as a shepherd lass, her white-clad sheep. Her native country, first and last, the sea! And whenever she passed, a Venus new Seemed rising from the shining water's depths.

The fisherman, a primitive world's breed, The sum of Christian and of Satyr blood, Returning from his fruitful fishing path, Looked upon her as on an evil tempter And on a sacred image; and his oars Hung on his hands inert as palsy stricken, And the swift-winging bark stood like a rock; And, marble-like, the fisherman within Gazed with religious trembling and desire, Exclaiming as in trance: "O holy Virgin!"