Between the blue that burned the swimming bay And the green welter of the tangled land, Nosing blood-browed against the grating sand, The tarred bulk of the mighty Argo lay. But the tall young Theban thrust his idle way Through the tough thickets with brown arrogant hand To where the little river seemed to stand Dozing, beneath the dead mid-swing of day. And saw, there kneeling by the shining stream Through the still depth white slender bodies rise: On his strong wrist cool fingers wrapt unseen; Unfathomably in blue quiet eyes His soul drew down, and he as in a dream Sank through the still bright water quietly. |