by Eric Banks on Tuesday, July 31, 2012 at 3:12pm
I just finished setting this poem today; it is the fourth in the cycle of six.
IV. The last outpost (Crossing the tropics)
Love, love, the Trade Winds urge abaft,
And thee, from thee, they steadfast waft.
By day the blue and silver sea
And chime of waters blandly fanned—
Nor these, nor Gama’s stars to me
May yield delight since still for thee
I long as Gama longed for land.
I yearn, I yearn, reverting turn,
My heart it streams in wake astern.
When, cut by slanting sleet, we swoop
Where raves the world’s inverted year,
If roses all your porch shall loop,
Not less your heart for me will droop
Doubling the world’s last outpost drear.
O love, O love, these oceans vast:
Love, love, it is as death were past!