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A thing well said will be writ in all languages. - John Dryden 1631-1700

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       THE  ARCHIPELAGO

Like copper shone the autumn day. Poseidon
And Aeolus moaned softly, mournfully.
Huge, surging, lilac waves rose on the sea.
Our ship dove fish-like in and out among them.

The cape lay far ahead, and high upon it
Now and again a row of columns showed.
The gods' song made me nod. Our vessel rode
The lilac waves and climbed each snowy summit.

The Sun-god's temple!.. Yet this was as naught.
Alone the sky and those white columns gracious,
A row of them, remained etched on my senses.

The hills in smoke-like rings of cloud were caught.
The cape looked like a loaf of bread. In fancies
And dreams I lived. The gods myself I wrought.

1908