NIGHT IN OLD CORINTH
A hill trembling with grain
And a winding path.
Shadowy sheep on the slopes;
The sound of bells and sea,
The sound of a peasant song,
The sound of pipe and drum ...
And in the twilight grey
Apollo’s temple.
Wide doors and the cottage fire,
Bright coffee-coppers; plates
Of white curds and of fish;
A man in a scarlet cap,
Turning a roasting spit;
A woman by the fount ...
And in the twilight grey
Apollo’s temple.
How was it when Paul came?
Corinth was blazing white,
Walled and rich and corrupt.
They “sat to eat and drink
And rose up but to play!”
The Purple Sellers knew ...
But in the twilight gleamed
Apollo’s temple!
The fountain’s hung with moss
But the cypress-trees are tall,
And little wingèd shapes
Say “Níke” in the ground.
The Jews “requiring signs,”
And the Greeks “looking for wisdom,”
Still in the twilight, see
Apollo’s temple!