Reading Time: < 1 minute

Poem

Behold that great Plotinus swim,
Buffeted by such seas;
Bland Rhadamanthus beckons him,
But the Golden Race looks dim,
Salt blood blocks his eyes.
Scattered on the level grass
Or winding through the grove
plato there and Minos pass,
There stately Pythagoras
And all the choir of Love.

Previous Poem
The Dedication To A Book Of Stories Selected From The Irish Novelists
Next Poem
The Everlasting Voices