There is remembered terror in your touch
Of spruce and palm and cedar — the wild trees
That strain against the dawns. Drained life of these
You carry, that have tamed a million such —
You that have outlived ruth and known the wills
Of seas on islands, too alone with them,
And heard men cry out on their gods to stem
Earth, unanimous, rising from the hills…
And clawed moon-harried tides throughout the wide
Low-swinging night…breaking the long stride
Of stars. You know of old harsh remedies,
Wind…cleansed of salt, with delicate cool tips
Light as a blind girl’s fingers on the lips…
And bitter healing at the roots of seas.