NIGHT IN OLD CORINTH

A hill trembling with grain And a winding path. Shadowy sheep on the slopes; The sound of bells and sea, The sound of a peasant song, The sound of pipe and drum ... And in the twilight grey Apollo’s temple. Wide doors and the cottage fire, Bright coffee-coppers; plates Of white curds and of fish; A man in a scarlet cap, Turning a roasting spit; A woman by the fount ... And in the twilight grey Apollo’s temple. How was it when Paul came? Corinth was blazing white, Walled and rich and corrupt. They “sat to eat and drink And rose up but to play!” The Purple Sellers knew ... But in the twilight gleamed Apollo’s temple! The fountain’s hung with moss But the cypress-trees are tall, And little wingèd shapes Say “Níke” in the ground. The Jews “requiring signs,” And the Greeks “looking for wisdom,” Still in the twilight, see Apollo’s temple!