Poem for the day - a fragment

The head lay anchor thought weighed down
Below the air, beneath the sound
And under drowned and all around
And spinnered glinting forth and dart
As if in spasmic morte d'art
Anenomes! the tart-pressed flowers
Coral-crusted king-crowned bowers
Swept with besom jewelled broom
- for all the sea was like a loom -
And woven threads the story told
the shuttle fish, the weft the shoaled
the carpet flew in days of old!
And shaken stormy beaten rug
Three friends the winding rock would face
Ascending weather-beaten grace
Up mothward to the spiral light
The granite beacon of the night
The mirrored torch reflect delight
And shutter'd shot the dark with flame
As if through spacetime sliced each frame
There flickered golden shadow dance
Of such exquisite ever lance
had burst the sun and speared the moon
And cast the rocks like seer's rune
Upon the blanket-rippled sky
Onwards! Onwards! was the cry!

They climbed as high and waxen-winged
Met Death awhile and lo he singed
twas frozen there, yet voices pealed
the caves of ice! the land revealed!
they saw that day the night the morn
and found contentment in forlorn
the sorrow cut the cold with warm
Their tears the tapestry did bind
And downward trod the truth on mind
the weight could not be left behind!

Now down the mountain through the mist
they saw it clearer eyes opaque
Remembered paths they'd separate take
And each horizon different saw
And each awashed on different shore
Yet could be island minds no more