Chapter II

Those serrate ridges toward the southward brew
Grape-colored mist, snow-frothed; the foamy crest
Of Mount Taÿgetos bursts on the blue
Peloponnesian pinnacles, repressed
Back of fair bays and coasts. Rich lands of corn,
“Slopes that the Spartans loved,” the Headlands Three
Hide from the eye; but nearer shores forlorn
Wounded and Ancient, scarred of rock and tree
Looming beyond the starry-clustered Isles,
Where fire-blue waters surge on circled strand,
Lead to far cliffs, which once were beacon-bearers
In early wars, for early Greek Wayfarers.