Stephen Spender(1909–1995)
Seascape
(In Memoriam, M.A.S.)
There are some days the happy ocean lies
Like an unfingered harp, below the land.
Afternoon gilds all the silent wires
Into a burning music for the eyes.
On mirrors flashing between fine-strung fires
The shore, heaped up with roses, horses, spires,
Wanders on water, walking above ribbed sand.
The motionlessness of the hot sky tires
And a sigh, like a woman's, from inland
Brushes the instrument with shadowing hand
Drawing across its wires some gull's sharp cries
Or bell, or shout, from distant, hedged-in shires;counties
These, deep as anchors, the hushing wave buries.
Then from the shore, two zig-zag butterflies,
Like errant dog-roses, cross the bright strand
Spiraling over sea in foolish gyres 0spiral turnings
Until they fall into reflected skies.
They drown. Fishermen understand
Such wings sunk in such ritual sacrifice,
Recalling legends of undersea, drowned cities.
W h a t voyagers, oh what heroes, flamed like pyres
With helmets plumed, have set forth from some island
And them the sea engulfed. Their eyes,
Contorted by the cruel waves' desires
Glitter with coins through the tide scarcely scanned,
While, above them, that harp assumes their sighs.