Men wondered why I loved you, and none guessed
How sweet your slow, divine stupidity,
Your look of earth, your sense of drowsy rest,
So rich, so strange, so all unlike my sea.
After the temper of my sails, my lean
Tall masts, you were the lure of harbour hours,--
A sleepy landscape warm and very green,
Where browsing creatures stare above still flowers.
These salt hands holding sweetness, the leader led,
A slave, too happy and crazed to rule,
Sea land-locked, brine and honey in one bed,
And Englands's man your servant and your fool!
My banqueting eyes foreswore my waiting ships;
I was a silly landsman at your lips.