For when July strewed fire on earth and sea The last time ere that year, Out of the flame of morn Cymothoe Beheld one brighter than the sunbright sphere Move toward her from its fieriest heart, whence trod The live sun's very God, Across the foam-bright water-ways that are As heavenlier heavens with star for answering star, And on her eyes and hair and maiden mouth Felt a kiss falling fierier than the South And heard above afar A noise of songs and wind-enamoured wings And lutes and lyres of milder and mightier strings, And round the resonant radiance of his car Where depth is one with height, Light heard as music, music seen as light. And with that second moondawn of the spring's That fosters the first rose, A sun-child whiter than the sunlit snows Was born out of the world of sunless things That round the round earth flows and ebbs and flows. But he that found the sea-flower by the sea And took to foster like a graft of earth Was born of man's most highest and heavenliest birth, Free-born as winds and stars and waves are free; A warrior grey with glories more than years, Though more of years than change the quick to dead Had rained their light and darkness on his head; A singer that in time's and memory's ears Should leave such words to sing as all his peers Might praise with hallowing heat of rapturous tears Till all the days of human flight were fled. And at his knees his fosterling was fed Not with man's wine and bread Nor mortal mother-milk of hopes and fears, But food of deep memorial days long sped; For bread with wisdom and with song for wine Clear as the full calm's emerald hyaline. And from his grave glad lips the boy would gather Fine honey of song-notes goldener than gold, More sweet than bees make of the breathing heather, That he, as glad and bold, Might drink as they, and keep his spirit from cold. And the boy loved his laurel-laden hair As his own father's risen on the eastern air, And that less white brow-binding bayleaf bloom More than all flowers his father's eyes relume; And those high songs he heard, More than all notes of any landward bird, More than all sounds less free Than the wind's quiring to the choral sea.