A pair of sails upsets the azure line
The clouds run down into the waves
Nothing is young about the deep white sea
Where thoughts of Moors, and Franks, and Normans bear on me.
A grain of sand speaks more than any book
About the breath of conquerors and dreams
Who came, then stayed, then left again,
And left their footprint in the shifting sand.
But who are we, if not the other grain
Which joins the pebbles on the empty beach
And think through tanning and sunbathing to
Relieve the pain of drinking of the Lethe.