THE sea was sapphire coloured, and the sky <br /> Burned like a heated opal through the air, <br /> We hoisted sail; the wind was blowing fair <br /> For the blue lands that to the eastward lie. <br /> From the steep prow I marked with quickening eye <br /> Zakynthos, every olive grove and creek, <br /> Ithaca's cliff, Lycaon's snowy peak, <br /> And all the flower-strewn hills of Arcady. <br /> The flapping of the sail against the mast, <br /> The ripple of the water on the side, <br /> The ripple of girls' laughter at the stern, <br /> The only sounds:--when 'gan the West to burn, <br /> And a red sun upon the seas to ride, <br /> I stood upon the soil of Greece at last!<br /><br />Oscar Wilde<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/impression-du-voyage/
