in my garden, the salt

has wilted the first flakes

of young narcissus,

and the lesser hyacinth,

and the salt has crept

under the leaves of the white hyacinth.

In my garden

even the wind-flowers lie flat,

broken by the wind at last.

VII

What are the islands to me

if you are lost,

what is Paros to me

if your eyes draw back,

what is Milos

if you take fright of beauty,

terrible, torturous, isolated,

a barren rock?

What is Rhodes, Crete,

what is Paros facing west,

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