Swimming

From “The Two Foscari”                 HOW many a time have I Cloven, with arm still lustier, breast more daring, The wave all roughened; with a swimmer’s stroke Flinging the billows back from my drenched hair, And laughing from my lips the audacious brine, Which kissed it like a wine-cup, rising o’er The waves as they arose, and prouder still The loftier they uplifted me; and oft, In wantonness of spirit, plunging down Into their green and glassy gulfs, and making My way to shells and sea-weed, all unseen By those above, till they waxed fearful; then Returning with my grasp full of such tokens As showed that I had searched the deep; exulting, With a far-dashing stroke, and drawing deep The long-suspended breath, again I spurned The foam which broke around me, and pursued My track like a sea-bird.—I was a boy then.