Hélène. Helen

HELEN

BLUE SKY! it's me... I come from the caves of the dead To hear the sonorous sound of the waves breaking, And I see again the galleys at first dawning Revived from the shade on a thread of golden oars.

My hands alone can summon up the monarchs Whose salt-caked beards amused my pure fingers; I cried. They sang of their obscure triumphs And the gulfs which fled behind their departing ships.

I hear the deep-sounding conches and the bugles Keeping in martial time with the sweep of the oars; The clear song of the rowers that bind the tumult,

And the Gods, upon heroic prows exalted With their antique smiles which only the spray affronts, Reaching out to me their indulgent sculptured arms.