Swimming

Lord Byron (1788–1824)

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.