[She Goes Into the Temple.]
Chorus
Dark of the sea, dark of the sea, [STROPHE 1.]
Gates of the warring water,
One, in the old time, conquered you,
A winged passion that burst the blue,
When the West was shut and the Dawn lay free
To the pain of Inachus’ daughter.
But who be these, from where the rushes blow
On pale Eurotas, from pure Dirce’s flow,
That turn not neither falter,
Seeking Her land, where no man breaketh bread,
Her without pity, round whose virgin head
Blood on the pillars rusts from long ago,
Blood on the ancient altar.
[ANTISTROPHE 1.]
A flash of the foam, a flash of the foam,
A wave on the oarblade welling,
And out they passed to the heart of the blue:
A chariot shell that the wild winds drew.
Is it for passion of gold they come,
Or pride to make great their dwelling?
For sweet is Hope, yea, to much mortal woe
So sweet that none may turn from it nor go,
Whom once the far voice calleth,
To wander through fierce peoples and the gleam
Of desolate seas, in every heart a dream:
And these she maketh empty die, and, lo,
To that man’s hand she falleth.