Where the cedar leaf divides the sky I heard the sea.
In sapphire arenas of the hills I was promised an improved infancy.
Sulking, sanctioning the sun,
My memory I left in a ravine,- Casual louse that tissues the buck-wheat,
Aprons rocks, congregates pears In moonlit bushels And wakens alleys with a hidden cough.
Dangerously the summer burned (I had joined the entrainments of the wind).
The shadows of boulders lengthened my back:
In the bronze gongs of my cheeks The rain dried without odour. "It is not long, it is not long;
See where the red and black Vine-stanchioned valleys-": but the wind Died speaking through the ages that you know And bug, chimney-sooted heart of man!
So was I turned about and back, much as your smoke Compiles a too well-known biography.
The evening was a spear in the ravine That throve through very oak.
And had I walked The dozen particular decimals of time?
Touching an opening laurel,
I found A thief beneath, my stolen book in hand. "'Why are you back here-smiling an iron coffin? " "To argue with the laurel," I replied: "Am justified in transience, fleeing Under the constant wonder of your eyes-." He closed the book.
And from the Ptolemies Sand troughed us in a glittering,, abyss.
A serpent swam a vertex to the sun -On unpaced beaches leaned its tongue and drummed.
What fountains did I hear?
What icy speeches?
Memory, committed to the page, had broke.
