Greece

The Spring had scattered poppies on the land, The Spring was saying her secret to the breeze; In the translucent shallows of green seas, A fisherman, a trident in his hand, Was casting shining fishes to the sand, And wading in the water to his knees; And still I hear the crickets and the bees, The hidden hoofs, the ringing saraband.

I see the temples above the breaking foam, The pillars pink as dawn in the silver dust; The Parthenon at sunset large and dim, Smouldering against the purple mountain’s crust; And far away on the ocean’s blazing rim, The phantom ship that brought Ulysses home.