Page:The Harvard Classics Vol. 22.djvu/19

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as one that for a weary space has lain lulled by the song of circe and her wine in 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 glad to know the brinesalt on his lips, and the large air again,so gladly, from the songs of modern speech men turn, and see the stars, and feel the free  shrill wind beyond the close of heavy flowers  and through the music of the languid hours,they hear like ocean on a western beach the surge and thunder of the odyssey.a. l.
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