White wings, that over the hyacinthine sea
With joy or hope or sorrow long have sped;
Since first he voyaged whom the Colchian wed;
Bearing lone ships over many a salt degree;
A voice came thence where ye were wont to be;
A strange and serpent utterance; high over head
Trailed its dark breath; and with Ixion's tread
A keel pa**ed by, mocking the stormy lee.
Into the rack, far lessening, on it went,
As once that antique lover of the cloud:
While ye to veering winds were bowed and bent;
And ocean roared with his great voice aloud;
Lashing his waves gainst isle and continent,
Vexed with the wake that wheel-borne ship had ploughed.