The Odyssey: A Sonnet ("As one that for a weary space has lain")

As One That for a Weary Space Has LainLulled by the Song of Circe and Her WineIn Gardens Near the Pale of Proserpine,Where That Aeaean Isle Forgets the Main,And Only the Low Lutes of Love Complain,And Only Shadows of Wan Lovers Pine,As Such an One Were Clad to Know the BrineSalt on His Lips, and the Large Air Again,So Cladly, from the Songs of Modern SpeechMen Turn, and See the Stars, and Feel the FreeShrill Wind Beyond the Close of Heavy FlowersAnd Throuch the Music of the Languid Hours,They Hear Like Ocean on a Western BeachThe Surge and Thunder of the Odyssey.