WeAuthor(s): Owen CampbellSource: Caribbean Quarterly, Vol. 5, No. 3, An Anthology of West Indian Poetry (April, 1958),pp. 135-136Published by: University of the West Indies and Caribbean QuarterlyStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/40652654 .

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Owen Campbell

We In the whispering cane, In the heat, And the fits of rain, And the soil clinging To our feet With the turned hoe-stroke,

We In the white glamour Of cotton, And the quick colour In waves of petals, In the sun Soft on the ripe lime,

We On a sweep of beach By the sea, With sway and the reach For rope and the fish Twined surely In their last boredom,

We Have dreamt of cities Tall as tales in smoke of industries; And the rumours of gold We heard were hard on our failing faiths.

We Have had word from far, Over wind-swept islands and a sea Of a rich land calling, And we felt its summons in the air.

But we are fish, roped fish, Dragged slowly to the definite doom On the sand there waiting The last fevers of our hot gasping.

135

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Owen Campbell

We are prophets, knowing Our next turnings in bewildered arcs, Or the meek surprises Rare in the warm swelter of hours.

Yet we are duped often

By the passage of the too rich hope That lures this sight, and hides From us our true selves while it crosses.

So we have decided Not to construct hope on continents, Or leave lost hearts to rove In the quick air on oceans of dream.

We have decided To build here, on our slender soil.

o«

136

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