Scherzando Light as thin-winged swallows pirouetting and gyrating, The sails dance in the estuary: Now heeling to the gust, now cantering, Bobbing as shuttles back and forth from each other. They scorn the black steamers that steadily near them On a course direct, with white spume of smoke from their bows, With snapping crash of breakers they fling themselves forward: Black on the wing-tips, white on the underside. These are the birds of the land breeze, Nesting on green waves in the gold sunlight: These are the sailships Heeling and tossing about in the estuary. |