WE were mariners long agone, Or ever the ages termagant Had sent the gold from the gonfalon, That flew at our fore-peak arrogant. And whenever the breezes hesitant Dropped and died in the silent morn, The bent oars swung to "Byzant! Byzant! Hark away for the Golden Horn." And when the last of the isles were gone, And the warm wind singing and odorant Through the silver channels bore us on, Stirring in mainsail and top-gallant, High on the ratline and spar aslant We climbed, and sang in the splendid morn; And oh, but our song was jubilant There in the light of the Golden Horn. The Soldan of Antioch hath won The city of silver and adamant, And our high-venturing galleon Was burned with a fire excoriant, There by the sea-gates resonant. And we are wounded and wretched and worn And know the whips of the flagellant Beyond the curve of the Golden Horn. ENVOI Princes, ye whom the years enchant, Ye too will drink of the dregs of scorn, Ye will sell your souls for a new Byzant And die for a glimpse of the Golden Horn. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO HORACE BUMSTEAD by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON RECESSIONAL by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SONG OF THE MOON by CLAUDE MCKAY SLEEPY HOLLOW by WILLIAM ELLERY CHANNING (1817-1901) THE ILIAD: ACHILLES OVER THE TRENCH by HOMER |