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The sea was
sapphire coloured, and the sky
Burned like a heated
opal through the air;
We hoisted sail; the wind was
blowing fair
For the blue lands that to the eastward
lie.
From the steep prow I marked with quickening eye
Zakynthos, every olive grove and creek,
Ithaca's
cliff, Lycaon's snowy peak,
And all the flower-strewn
hills of Arcady.
The flapping of the sail against the
mast,
The ripple of the water on the side,
The
ripple of girls' laughter at the stern,
The only
sounds: -when 'gan the West to burn,
And a red sun
upon the seas to ride,
I stood upon the soil of
Greece at last!
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