Sally Dupré, Sally Dupré, Eyes that are neither black nor grey, Why do you haunt me, night and day?

Sea-changing eyes, with the deep, drowned glimmer Of bar-gold crumbling from sunken ships, Where the sea-dwarfs creep through the streaked, green shimmer To press the gold to their glass-cold lips. They sculpture the gold for a precious ring, In the caverns under the under-skies, They would marry the son to a sailor-king! You have taken my heart from me, sea-born eyes. You have taken it, yes, but I do not know. There are too many roads where I must go. There are too many beds where I have slept For a night unweeping, to quit unwept, And it needs a king to marry the sea.