The Surfer

He thrust his joy against the weight of the sea; climbed through, slid under those long banks of foam-- (hawthorn hedges in spring, thorns in the face stinging). How his brown strength drove through the hollow and coil of green-through weirs of water! Muscle of arm thrust down long muscle of water; and swimming so, went out of sight where mortal, masterful, frail, the gulls went wheeling in air as he in water, with delight. Turn home, the sun goes down; swimmer, turn home. Last leaf of gold vanishes from the sea-curve. Take the big roller’s shoulder, speed and serve; come to the long beach home like a gull diving. For on the sand the grey-wolf sea lies, snarling, cold twilight wind splits the waves’ hair and shows the bones they worry in their wolf-teeth. O, wind blows and sea crouches on sand, fawning and mouthing; drops there and snatches again, drops and again snatches its broken toys, its whitened pebbles and shells.