Ballad Of The Long-Legged Bait

The bows glided¹ down， and the coast

　　Blackened with birds took a last look

　　At his thrashing hair and whale-blue eye；

　　The trodden town rang its cobbles for luck.

　　Then good-bye to the fishermanned

　　Boat with its anchor free and fast

　　As a bird hooking over the sea，

　　High and dry by the top of the mast，

　　Whispered the affectionate sand

　　And the bulwarks² of the dazzled quay³.

　　For my sake sail， and never look back，

　　Said the looking land.

　　Sails drank the wind， and white as milk

　　He sped into the drinking dark；

　　The sun shipwrecked west on a pearl

　　And the moon swam out of its hulk.

　　Funnels⁴ and masts went by in a whirl.

　　Good-bye to the man on the sea-legged deck

　　To the gold gut⁵ that sings on his reel

　　To the bait that stalked out of the sack，

　　For we saw him throw to the swift flood

　　A girl alive with his hooks through her lips；

　　All the fishes were rayed in blood，

　　Said the dwindling⁷ ships.

　　Good-bye to chimneys and funnels，

　　Old wives that spin in the smoke，

　　He was blind to the eyes of candles

　　In the praying windows of waves

　　But heard his bait buck⁸ in the wake

　　And tussle⁹ in a shoal of loves.

　　Now cast down your rod， for the whole

　　Of the sea is hilly with whales，

　　She longs among horses and angels，

　　The rainbow-fish bend in her joys，

　　Floated the lost cathedral

　　Chimes of the rocked buoys¹⁰.

　　Where the anchor rode like a gull¹¹

　　Miles over the moonstruck boat

　　A squall of birds bellowed¹² and fell，

　　A cloud blew the rain from its throat；

　　He saw the storm smoke out to kill

　　With fuming¹³ bows and ram¹⁴ of ice，

　　Fire on starlight， rake Jesu's stream；

　　And nothing shone on the water's face

　　But the oil and bubble of the moon，

　　Plunging¹⁵ and piercing in his course

　　The lured¹⁶ fish under the foam¹⁷

　　Witnessed with a kiss.

　　Whales in the wake like capes¹⁸ and Alps

　　Quaked the sick sea and snouted deep，

　　Deep the great bushed¹⁹ bait with raining lips

　　Slipped the fins²⁰ of those humpbacked tons

　　And fled their love in a weaving dip.

　　Oh， Jericho was falling in their lungs！

　　She nipped and dived in the nick of love，

　　Spun²¹ on a spout²² like a long-legged ball

　　Till every beast blared down in a swerve²³

　　Till every turtle crushed from his shell

　　Till every bone in the rushing grave

　　Rose and crowed and fell！

　　Good luck to the hand on the rod，

　　There is thunder under its thumbs；

　　Gold gut is a lightning thread，

　　His fiery²⁴ reel sings off its flames，

　　The whirled boat in the burn of his blood

　　Is crying from nets to knives，

　　Oh the shearwater birds and their boatsized brood

　　Oh the bulls of Biscay and their calves²⁶

　　Are making under the green， laid veil

　　The long-legged beautiful bait their wives.

　　Break the black news and paint on a sail

　　Huge weddings in the waves，

　　Over the wakeward-flashing spray

　　Over the gardens of the floor

　　Clash out the mounting dolphin's day，

　　My mast is a bell-spire，

　　Strike and smoothe， for my decks are drums，

　　Sing through the water-spoken prow²⁷

　　The octopus²⁸ walking into her limbs

　　The polar eagle with his tread of snow.

　　From salt-lipped beak²⁹ to the kick of the stern

　　Sing how the seal has kissed her dead！

　　The long， laid minute's bride drifts on

　　Old in her cruel bed.

　　Over the graveyard³⁰ in the water

　　Mountains and galleries beneath

　　Nightingale and hyena³¹

　　Rejoicing for that drifting death

　　Sing and howl through sand and anemone³²

　　Valley and sahara in a shell，

　　Oh all the wanting flesh his enemy

　　Thrown to the sea in the shell of a girl

　　Is old as water and plain as an eel⁶；

　　Always good-bye to the long-legged bread

　　Scattered³³ in the paths of his heels

　　For the salty birds fluttered and fed

　　And the tall grains foamed³⁴ in their bills；

　　Always good-bye to the fires of the face，

　　For the crab-backed dead on the sea-bed rose

　　And scuttled³⁵ over her eyes，

　　The blind， clawed stare is cold as sleet³⁶.

　　The tempter under the eyelid³⁷

　　Who shows to the selves asleep

　　Mast-high moon-white women naked

　　Walking in wishes and lovely for shame

　　Is dumb and gone with his flame of brides.

　　Susannah's drowned in the bearded stream

　　And no-one stirs at Sheba's side

　　But the hungry kings of the tides；

　　Sin who had a woman's shape

　　Sleeps till Silence blows on a cloud

　　And all the lifted waters walk and leap.

　　Lucifer that bird's dropping

　　Out of the sides of the north

　　Has melted away and is lost

　　Is always lost in her vaulted³⁸ breath，

　　Venus lies star-struck in her wound

　　And the sensual ruins make

　　Seasons over the liquid world，

　　White springs in the dark.

　　Always good-bye， cried the voices through the shell，

　　Good-bye always， for the flesh is cast

　　And the fisherman winds his reel

　　With no more desire than a ghost.

　　Always good luck， praised the finned³⁹ in the feather

　　Bird after dark and the laughing fish

　　As the sails drank up the hail of thunder

　　And the long-tailed lightning lit his catch.

　　The boat swims into the six-year weather，

　　A wind throws a shadow and it freezes fast.

　　See what the gold gut drags from under

　　Mountains and galleries to the crest⁴⁰！

　　See what clings to hair and skull⁴¹

　　As the boat skims on with drinking wings！

　　The statues of great rain stand still，

　　And the flakes⁴² fall like hills.

　　Sing and strike his heavy haul

　　Toppling up the boatside in a snow of light！

　　His decks are drenched⁴³ with miracles.

　　Oh miracle of fishes！ The long dead bite！

　　Out of the urn²⁵ a size of a man

　　Out of the room the weight of his trouble

　　Out of the house that holds a town

　　In the continent of a fossil

　　One by one in dust and shawl，

　　Dry as echoes and insect-faced，

　　His fathers cling to the hand of the girl

　　And the dead hand leads the past，

　　Leads them as children and as air

　　On to the blindly tossing tops；

　　The centuries throw back their hair

　　And the old men sing from newborn lips：

　　Time is bearing another son.

　　Kill Time！ She turns in her pain！

　　The oak is felled in the acorn⁴⁴

　　And the hawk⁴⁵ in the egg kills the wren⁴⁶.

　　He who blew the great fire in

　　And died on a hiss⁴⁷ of flames

　　Or walked the earth in the evening

　　Counting the denials of the grains

　　Clings to her drifting hair， and climbs；

　　And he who taught their lips to sing

　　Weeps like the risen sun among

　　The liquid choirs⁴⁸ of his tribes.

　　The rod bends low， divining land，

　　And through the sundered⁴⁹ water crawls

　　A garden holding to her hand

　　With birds and animals

　　With men and women and waterfalls

　　Trees cool and dry in the whirlpool of ships

　　And stunned⁵⁰ and still on the green， laid veil

　　Sand with legends in its virgin⁵¹ laps

　　And prophets loud on the burned dunes⁵²；

　　Insects and valleys hold her thighs⁵³ hard，

　　Times and places grip her breast bone，

　　She is breaking with seasons and clouds；

　　Round her trailed wrist fresh water weaves，

　　with moving fish and rounded stones

　　Up and down the greater waves

　　A separate river breathes and runs；

　　Strike and sing his catch of fields

　　For the surge is sown with barley⁵⁴，

　　The cattle graze on the covered foam，

　　The hills have footed the waves away，

　　With wild sea fillies and soaking bridles⁵⁵

　　With salty colts and gales⁵⁶ in their limbs

　　All the horses of his haul of miracles

　　Gallop⁵⁷ through the arched， green farms，

　　Trot⁵⁸ and gallop with gulls⁵⁹ upon them

　　And thunderbolts in their manes.

　　O Rome and Sodom To-morrow and London

　　The country tide is cobbled with towns

　　And steeples pierce the cloud on her shoulder

　　And the streets that the fisherman combed

　　When his long-legged flesh was a wind on fire

　　And his loin was a hunting flame

　　Coil from the thoroughfares of her hair

　　And terribly lead him home alive

　　Lead her prodigal⁶⁰ home to his terror，

　　The furious ox-killing house of love.

　　Down， down， down， under the ground，

　　Under the floating villages，

　　Turns the moon-chained and water-wound

　　Metropolis⁶¹ of fishes，

　　There is nothing left of the sea but its sound，

　　Under the earth the loud sea walks，

　　In deathbeds of orchards⁶² the boat dies down

　　And the bait is drowned among hayricks，

　　Land， land， land， nothing remains⁶³

　　Of the pacing， famous sea but its speech，

　　And into its talkative seven tombs

　　The anchor dives through the floors of a church.

　　Good-bye， good luck， struck the sun and the moon，

　　To the fisherman lost on the land.

　　He stands alone in the door of his home，

　　With his long-legged heart in his hand.