But drunkenly, or secretly, we swore, Disciples of that astigmatic saint, That we would never leave the islandUntil we had put down, in paint, in words, As palmists learn the network of a hand, All of its sunken, leaf-choked ravines, Every neglected, self-pitying inletMuttering in brackish dialect, the ropes of mangrovesFrom which old soldier crabs slippedSurrendering to slush, Each ochre track seeking some hilltop andLosing itself in an unfinished phrase, Under sand shipyards where the burnt-out palmsInverted the design of unrigged schooners, Entering forests, boiling with life, Goyave, corrosol, bois-canot, sapotille. Days!The sun drumming, drumming, Past the defeated pennons of the palms, Roads limp from sunstroke, Past green flutes of the grassThe ocean cannonading, come!Wonder that opened like the fanOf the dividing frondsOn some noon-struck sahara, Where my heart from its rib cage yelped like a pupAfter clouds of sanderlings rustily wheelingThe world on its ancient, Invisible axis, The breakers slow-dolphining over more breakers, To swivel our easels down, as firmAs conquerors who had discovered home.

But drunkenly, or secretly, we swore, Disciples... | Derek Walcott

But drunkenly, or secretly, we swore, Disciples of that astigmatic saint, That we would never leave the islandUntil we had put down, in paint, in words, As palmists learn the network of a hand, All of its sunken, leaf-choked ravines, Every neglected, self-pitying inletMuttering in brackish dialect, the ropes of mangrovesFrom which old soldier crabs slippedSurrendering to slush, Each ochre track seeking some hilltop andLosing itself in an unfinished phrase, Under sand shipyards where the burnt-out palmsInverted the design of unrigged schooners, Entering forests, boiling with life, Goyave, corrosol, bois-canot, sapotille. Days!The sun drumming, drumming, Past the defeated pennons of the palms, Roads limp from sunstroke, Past green flutes of the grassThe ocean cannonading, come!Wonder that opened like the fanOf the dividing frondsOn some noon-struck sahara, Where my heart from its rib cage yelped like a pupAfter clouds of sanderlings rustily wheelingThe world on its ancient, Invisible axis, The breakers slow-dolphining over more breakers, To swivel our easels down, as firmAs conquerors who had discovered home. - Derek Walcott


Style BoldShapes

But drunkenly, or secretly, we swore, Disciples of that astigmatic saint, That we would never leave the islandUntil we had put down, in paint, in words, As palmists learn the network of a hand, All of its sunken, leaf-choked ravines, Every neglected, self-pitying inletMuttering in brackish dialect, the ropes of mangrovesFrom which old soldier crabs slippedSurrendering to slush, Each ochre track seeking some hilltop andLosing itself in an unfinished phrase, Under sand shipyards where the burnt-out palmsInverted the design of unrigged schooners, Entering forests, boiling with life, Goyave, corrosol, bois-canot, sapotille. Days!The sun drumming, drumming, Past the defeated pennons of the palms, Roads limp from sunstroke, Past green flutes of the grassThe ocean cannonading, come!Wonder that opened like the fanOf the dividing frondsOn some noon-struck sahara, Where my heart from its rib cage yelped like a pupAfter clouds of sanderlings rustily wheelingThe world on its ancient, Invisible axis, The breakers slow-dolphining over more breakers, To swivel our easels down, as firmAs conquerors who had discovered home. Derek Walcott

Style PurpleWhite

But drunkenly, or secretly, we swore, Disciples of that astigmatic saint, That we would never leave the islandUntil we had put down, in paint, in words, As palmists learn the network of a hand, All of its sunken, leaf-choked ravines, Every neglected, self-pitying inletMuttering in brackish dialect, the ropes of mangrovesFrom which old soldier crabs slippedSurrendering to slush, Each ochre track seeking some hilltop andLosing itself in an unfinished phrase, Under sand shipyards where the burnt-out palmsInverted the design of unrigged schooners, Entering forests, boiling with life, Goyave, corrosol, bois-canot, sapotille. Days!The sun drumming, drumming, Past the defeated pennons of the palms, Roads limp from sunstroke, Past green flutes of the grassThe ocean cannonading, come!Wonder that opened like the fanOf the dividing frondsOn some noon-struck sahara, Where my heart from its rib cage yelped like a pupAfter clouds of sanderlings rustily wheelingThe world on its ancient, Invisible axis, The breakers slow-dolphining over more breakers, To swivel our easels down, as firmAs conquerors who had discovered home. Derek Walcott

Style Speech from bottom

But drunkenly, or secretly, we swore, Disciples of that astigmatic saint, That we would never leave the islandUntil we had put down, in paint, in words, As palmists learn the network of a hand, All of its sunken, leaf-choked ravines, Every neglected, self-pitying inletMuttering in brackish dialect, the ropes of mangrovesFrom which old soldier crabs slippedSurrendering to slush, Each ochre track seeking some hilltop andLosing itself in an unfinished phrase, Under sand shipyards where the burnt-out palmsInverted the design of unrigged schooners, Entering forests, boiling with life, Goyave, corrosol, bois-canot, sapotille. Days!The sun drumming, drumming, Past the defeated pennons of the palms, Roads limp from sunstroke, Past green flutes of the grassThe ocean cannonading, come!Wonder that opened like the fanOf the dividing frondsOn some noon-struck sahara, Where my heart from its rib cage yelped like a pupAfter clouds of sanderlings rustily wheelingThe world on its ancient, Invisible axis, The breakers slow-dolphining over more breakers, To swivel our easels down, as firmAs conquerors who had discovered home. Derek Walcott

Style Oval Thought Bubble

But drunkenly, or secretly, we swore, Disciples of that astigmatic saint, That we would never leave the islandUntil we had put down, in paint, in words, As palmists learn the network of a hand, All of its sunken, leaf-choked ravines, Every neglected, self-pitying inletMuttering in brackish dialect, the ropes of mangrovesFrom which old soldier crabs slippedSurrendering to slush, Each ochre track seeking some hilltop andLosing itself in an unfinished phrase, Under sand shipyards where the burnt-out palmsInverted the design of unrigged schooners, Entering forests, boiling with life, Goyave, corrosol, bois-canot, sapotille. Days!The sun drumming, drumming, Past the defeated pennons of the palms, Roads limp from sunstroke, Past green flutes of the grassThe ocean cannonading, come!Wonder that opened like the fanOf the dividing frondsOn some noon-struck sahara, Where my heart from its rib cage yelped like a pupAfter clouds of sanderlings rustily wheelingThe world on its ancient, Invisible axis, The breakers slow-dolphining over more breakers, To swivel our easels down, as firmAs conquerors who had discovered home. Derek Walcott

Style Floating Box of Blue

But drunkenly, or secretly, we swore, Disciples of that astigmatic saint, That we would never leave the islandUntil we had put down, in paint, in words, As palmists learn the network of a hand, All of its sunken, leaf-choked ravines, Every neglected, self-pitying inletMuttering in brackish dialect, the ropes of mangrovesFrom which old soldier crabs slippedSurrendering to slush, Each ochre track seeking some hilltop andLosing itself in an unfinished phrase, Under sand shipyards where the burnt-out palmsInverted the design of unrigged schooners, Entering forests, boiling with life, Goyave, corrosol, bois-canot, sapotille. Days!The sun drumming, drumming, Past the defeated pennons of the palms, Roads limp from sunstroke, Past green flutes of the grassThe ocean cannonading, come!Wonder that opened like the fanOf the dividing frondsOn some noon-struck sahara, Where my heart from its rib cage yelped like a pupAfter clouds of sanderlings rustily wheelingThe world on its ancient, Invisible axis, The breakers slow-dolphining over more breakers, To swivel our easels down, as firmAs conquerors who had discovered home. Derek Walcott

Style Classic

But drunkenly, or secretly, we swore, Disciples of that astigmatic saint, That we would never leave the islandUntil we had put down, in paint, in words, As palmists learn the network of a hand, All of its sunken, leaf-choked ravines, Every neglected, self-pitying inletMuttering in brackish dialect, the ropes of mangrovesFrom which old soldier crabs slippedSurrendering to slush, Each ochre track seeking some hilltop andLosing itself in an unfinished phrase, Under sand shipyards where the burnt-out palmsInverted the design of unrigged schooners, Entering forests, boiling with life, Goyave, corrosol, bois-canot, sapotille. Days!The sun drumming, drumming, Past the defeated pennons of the palms, Roads limp from sunstroke, Past green flutes of the grassThe ocean cannonading, come!Wonder that opened like the fanOf the dividing frondsOn some noon-struck sahara, Where my heart from its rib cage yelped like a pupAfter clouds of sanderlings rustily wheelingThe world on its ancient, Invisible axis, The breakers slow-dolphining over more breakers, To swivel our easels down, as firmAs conquerors who had discovered home. Derek Walcott

Other embedding Options

If you want to embed quote of the day quotes or want to see other display style options visit our sample page to see all the options.

Learn more about Joomla Quotes Extensions and wordpress extensions.

Cut and paste the following quote id in joomla module / wordpress widget options to display this quote in your webpage. Learn more about Joomla Quotes Extensions and wordpress extensions.

The following will embed an image.You can easily copy and paste it in email or presentations etc. If you want to embed quote of the day quotes or want to see other style options visit our sample page to see all the options.


If you are using this quote in any webpage , printmedia or any other places please use the following methods to cite this quotation.

MLA Style Citation
"A quote by Derek Walcott" theysaidso.com,2021. Feb 20, 2021. https://theysaidso.com/quote/derek-walcott-but-drunkenly-or-secretly-we-sworedisciples-of-that-astigmatic-sai
APA Style Citation
"A quote by Derek Walcott" (n.d.). theysaidso.com. Retrieved Feb 20, 2021, from theysaidso.com web site : https://theysaidso.com/quote/derek-walcott-but-drunkenly-or-secretly-we-sworedisciples-of-that-astigmatic-sai
Chicago Style Citation
"A quote by Derek Walcott". theysaidso.com, 2021. https://theysaidso.com/quote/derek-walcott-but-drunkenly-or-secretly-we-sworedisciples-of-that-astigmatic-sai , accessed Feb 20, 2021.