By Ephor
By damp-palmed night, no warm skies fan his soul
But crickets' weeping sings to him of home
And soft Achaean nights of salt-laced stars.
Remembrance of the rustling plains and drums
Of flashing winds of daytime follow hard
And now each sovereign vein pangs for return;
He creases clamshell eyes and tries to blank
Such bright elysian whispers from his mind.
He struggles to surmount his sordid present
Wreathed in crawly soldier-blankets, frightened
By the mothbeats just beyond his swollen eyes,
And once again he rhapsodises, rapt
Recalling how her sunlit arms would sink
With summer-scented warmth about his waist---
But trapped alone he sinks back to the world
Of raucous smell, of cold and heavy air,
And as he tries to buoy himself with thoughts
Of daylight moons by Sparta's loveworn shores
The sweat that swirls around him drags him down.