An Idyl for Glaucus

Whither he went I may not follow him. His eyes

Were strange to-day. They always were,

After their fashion, kindred of the sea.

To-day I found him. It is very long

That I had sought among the nets, and when I asked

The fishermen, they laughed at me.

I sought long days amid the cliffs thinking to find

The body-house of him, and then

There at the blue cave-mouth my joy

Grew pain for suddenness, to see him‘ live.

Whither he went I may not come, it seems

He is become estranged from all the rest,

And all the sea is now his wonder-house.

And he may sink unto strange depths, he tells me of,

That have no light as we it deem.

E'en now he speaks strange words. I did not know

One half the substance of his speech with me.

And then when I saw naught he sudden leaped

And shot, a gleam of silver, down, away.

And I have spent three days upon this rock

And yet he comes no more.

He did not even seem to know

I watched him gliding through the vitreous deep.

They chide me that the skein I used to spin

Holds not my interest now,

They mock me at the route, well, I have come again.

Last night I saw three white forms move

Out past the utmost wave that bears the white foam crest.

I somehow knew that he was one of them.

Oime, Oime. I think each time they come

Up from the sea heart to the realm of air

They are more far-removed from the shore.

When first I found him here, he slept

E'en as he might after a long night's taking on the deep.

And when he woke some whit the old kind smile

Dwelt round his lips and held him near to me.

But then strange gleams shot through the grey-deep eyes

As though he saw beyond and saw not me.

And when he moved to speak it troubled him.

And then he plucked at grass and bade me eat.

And then forgot me for the sea its charm

And leapt him in the wave and so was gone.

I wonder why he mocked me with the grass.

I know not any more how long it is

Since I have dwelt not in my mother's house.

I know they think me mad, for all night long

I haunt the sea-marge, thinking I may find

Some day the herb he offered unto me.

Perhaps he did not jest; they say some simples have

More wide-spanned power than old wives draw from them.

Perhaps, found I this grass, he'd come again.

Perhaps‘ tis some strange charm to draw him here,

‘ Thout which he may not leave his new-found crew

That ride the two-foot coursers of the deep,

And laugh in storms and break the fishers’ nets.

Oime, Oime!