Part 2 (2/2)

'We sail, with creaking cedar, towards the Northern Star.

The helmsman singeth wearily, and in our hold are lying A hundred slaves in shackles from the marts of Zanzibar.'

'Oh whither be ye sailing...?'

'Alas, we sail no longer: Our hulls are wrack, our sails are dust, as any man might know.

And why should you torment us? ... Your iron keels are stronger Than ghostly s.h.i.+ps that sailed from Tyre a thousand years ago.'

THE GIFT

Marching on Tanga, marching the parch'd plain Of wavering spear-gra.s.s past Pangani River, England came to me--me who had always ta'en But never given before--England, the giver, In a vision of three poplar-trees that s.h.i.+ver On still evenings of summer, after rain, By Slapton Ley, where reed-beds start and quiver When scarce a ripple moves the upland grain.

Then I thanked G.o.d that now I had suffered pain, And, as the parch'd plain, thirst, and lain awake s.h.i.+vering all night through till cold daybreak: In that I count these sufferings my gain And her acknowledgment. Nay, more, would fain Suffer as many more for her sweet sake.

FIVE DEGREES SOUTH

I love all waves and lovely water in motion, That wavering iris in comb of the blown spray: Iris of tumbled nautilus in the wake's commotion, Their spread sails dipped in a marmoreal way Unquarried, wherein are greeny bubbles blowing Plumes of faint spray, cool in the deep And lucent seas, that pause not in their flowing To lap the southern starlight while they sleep.

These I have seen, these I have loved and known: I have seen Jupiter, that great star, swinging Like a s.h.i.+p's lantern, silent and alone Within his sea of sky, and heard the singing Of the south trade, that siren of the air, Who s.h.i.+vers the taut shrouds, and singeth there.

104 FAHRENHEIT

To-night I lay with fever in my veins Consumed, tormented creature of fire and ice, And, weaving the enhavock'd brain's device, Dreamed that for evermore I must walk these plains Where sunlight slayeth life, and where no rains Abated the fierce air, nor slaked its fire: So that death seemed the end of all desire, To ease the distracted body of its pains.

And so I died, and from my eyes the glare Faded, nor had I further need of breath; But when I reached my hand to find you there Beside me, I found nothing.... Lonely was death.

And with a cry I wakened, but to hear Thin wings of fever singing in my ear.

FEVER-TREES

The beautiful Acacia She sighs in desert lands: Over the burning waterways Of Africa she sways and sways, Even where no air glideth In cooling green she stands.

The beautiful Acacia She hath a yellow dress: A slender trunk of lemon sheen Gleameth through the tender green (Where the thorn hideth) s.h.i.+elding her loveliness.

The beautiful Acacia Dwelleth in deadly lands: Over the brooding waterways Where death breedeth, she sways and sways, And no man long abideth In valleys where she stands.

THE RAIN-BIRD

<script>