The Gardener of Sinope
The two hired murderers went their way
That night, towards the quiet place
Where Phocas dwelt. Yet had not they
Gone half a furlong from the gate,
Along the woody, desolate.
Wild country, when the open space
Grew thick with storm and white with hail,
Rain that the wind rent as a veil.
And lightning, till the thunder drowned
Their voices, crying as they found
The flooding sea at their feet. Aghast
They stumbled, harried by the blast,
Torn by the hail, half blind with fire.
Weary with baffling waves that higher
And colder crept at their knees. And still
The storm raged on and did not tire.
The storm raged on and knew no law.
At last, half dead with fear, they saw
Far off, dim shining on the hill,
A light that was no levin-light,
Steadier far and far less bright;
And, carrying it, an ancient man
Walked slowly towards them. As he came
The spent storm slackened, and the flame
Faded. "'Tis Zeus, our guardian!"
Said one; the other cried, "All hail,
Poseidon, ruler of seas!" But he
They spoke to merely smiled, and said
Half sighing, "Much these gods avail!
Come to my house, for verily
Ye have great need of rest and bread."
And, turning up the hill with them,
He led them through a pleasant field
Of yellowing corn, until they came
To a wide garden full of grass
And flowering shrubs, and trees that yield
Sweet fruit for eating, and a plot
Of summer flowers among them was
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