A Hill Come out of the Sea

The mixed grass that never ripens, dark green, salt-strong,

And blue flower-shocks that I name after wind, shake and

stand,

Gather and cast water, spread and beat the ground

That has come out of the green sea and into light.

The grass moves as if listening to the sea quickened its

blades.

Here I would invent praise, and have learned no other than

to name

The kinds of grass here: the great bunches of blue

Windflowers that leak shining water; big-stemmed vetch;

Yellow and black snapdragons; wild strawberry runners;

Cheat- and rib-grass with white pollen rimming its dark

heads:

You land attained out of the dark places of the sea!

I am not ashamed praising by count this grass

Standing in the wind; and once I could not sleep,

Ashamed because I could find no praise except reckoning

How surely a woman gained beauty, whose white arms,

Whose white flesh became like the cold foam and gave me

no peace.

But now the old praise is enough, since there come here

A few children with cattle, or old women of this land

Walk in the grass I thought gallant, and on the hill

I thought came out of the bright-watered and commanding

sea.