Pauline B. Barrington

THE SEA hides its curious heart

Under a bridal robe of mother-o’-pearl,

Mother-o’-pearl flushed with rose,

Waiting.

Against a turquoise sky

The mountains kneel, mauve-gray

In the gray-pink sand

Of the curving shore,

Waiting.

The moon, pale and wan,

Hangs a flat design in silver

On the expectant sky,

Waiting.

The palm trees, in parallel rows

Along the Plaza, clasp

Nervous, wavering fingers,

Waiting.

Riding on a many-fluted shell

Held on the backs of jade tritons,

Comes Venus Anadyomene, straight and slim,

Combing the night curls

From her ruddy hair,

Blown by the four winds

To the meeting with her lover.

Then, he comes—the young Sun,

Glorious in amazing strength and splendor,

Striding across the mountains

To pave a path of brazen metal

For the whiteness of her feet,

The two little feet of his bride.

He surrounds, covers, hides her

In golden madness.

The sea roughens,

Sending her waves with the morning breeze

Against the shore.

It is day!