Where once the waters of your face <br />Spun to my screws, your dry ghost blows, <br />The dead turns up its eye; <br />Where once the mermen through your ice <br />Pushed up their hair, the dry wind steers <br />Through salt and root and roe. <br /> <br />Where once your green knots sank their splice <br />Into the tided cord, there goes <br />The green unraveller, <br />His scissors oiled, his knife hung loose <br />To cut the channels at their source <br />And lay the wet fruits low. <br /> <br />Invisible, your clocking tides <br />Break on the lovebeds of the weeds; <br />The weed of love's left dry; <br />There round about your stones the shades <br />Of children go who, from their voids, <br />Cry to the dolphined sea. <br /> <br />Dry as a tomb, your coloured lids <br />Shall not be latched while magic glides <br />Sage on the earth and sky; <br />There shall be corals in your beds <br />There shall be serpents in your tides, <br />Till all our sea-faiths die.<br /><br />Dylan Thomas<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/where-once-the-waters-of-your-face/
