SAD as he sits on the white
sea-stone
And the
suave sea chuckles, and turns to the moon,
And the moon significant smiles
at the cliffs and
the boulders.
He sits like a shade by the flood
alone
While I dance
a tarantella on the rocks, and the
croon
Of my mockery mocks at him over
the waves’
bright shoulders.
What can I do but dance
alone,
Dance to the
sliding sea and the moon,
For the moon on my breast and the air on my
limbs
and the foam on my feet?
For surely this earnest man has
none
Of the night in
his soul, and none of the tune
Of the waters within him; only the world’s
old
wisdom to bleat.
I wish a wild sea-fellow would come
down the
glittering shingle,
A soulless neckar, with winking seas in his
eyes
And falling
waves in his arms, and the lost soul’s kiss
On his lips: I long to be
soulless, I tingle
To touch the sea in the last surprise
Of fiery coldness, to be gone in a lost soul’s
bliss.