THE OLD SWIMMER

I often wander on the beach

Where once, so brown of limb,

The biting air, the roaring surf

Summoned me to swim.

I see my old abundant youth

Where combers lean and spill,

And though I taste the foam no more

Other swimmers will.

Oh, good exultant strength to meet

The arching wall of green,

To break the crystal, swirl, emerge

Dripping, taut, and clean.

To climb the moving hilly blue,

To dive in ecstasy

And feel the salty chill embrace

Arm and rib and knee.

What brave and vanished laughter then

And tingling thighs to run,

What warm and comfortable sands

Dreaming in the sun.

The crumbling water spreads in snow,

The surf is hissing still,

And though I kiss the salt no more

Other swimmers will.