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|“The Return to Nature”|
Histories of Modern Poetry
It was the south: mid-everything,|
Mid-land, mid-summer, noon;
And deep within a limpid spring
The mirrored sun of June.
Splendour in freshness! Ah, who stole|
This sun, this fire, from heaven?
He holds it shining in his soul,
Prometheus the forgiven.
In her bright title poets dare|
What the wild eye of fancy sees
Similitudethe clear, the fair
Light mystery of images.
Round the blue sea I love the best|
The argent foam played, slender, fleet;
I sawpast Wordsworth and the rest
Her natural, Greek, and silver feet.
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Lane Core Jr. (email@example.com)
Created April 14, 2001; not revised.