It seems the sea, that scourge of ages,
contrives your genius to inspire?
You laud upon your golden lyre
old Neptune’s trident as he rages.
Don’t waste your praise. These days you’ll find
that sea and land have no division.
On any element mankind
is tyrant, traitor, or in prison.
Так море, древний душегубец,
Воспламеняет гений твой?
Ты славишь лирой золотой
Нептуна грозного трезубец.
Не славь его. В наш гнусный век
Седой Нептун земли союзник.
На всех стихиях человек —
Тиран, предатель или узник.
«Brow — / Snows. / White — / Coffin glows. Intones / the deacon. / Arrow lit / Beacon — Nave — / grave. / Consecration! / Vault - cessation. Apparition — / Hell's perdition!»
«Please search for me in rays through spring leaves sweeping. / I am a bell, a brook, a sun spot sitting still. / I am the wings, elf-like, in twilight fleeting. / They wave. They were. They touched your window sill. Eternal friend, no farewell, no parting! / D'you hear? I'm here. Your han...»
«Snowflakes. Sundown. Fog covered silhouettes. / Roofs like the crests of the sea. / Strange drifts of ocher and rose, a-mellowing, / Atop cupolas they flee. Quiet. So quietly, sadly, and peacefully, / Lights look through windows at me... / Bells ring-a-ling, I imbibe sounds blissfully... ...»
«I sit in my room round and tiny / Awashed by the light from above, / Look up at the stuccoed skyline / Dawn-dusked by a sixty watt sun. My things, lit as well, they surround me: / The chairs, the table, the bed. / I pause, hands confused, where to hide them? / My thoughts race, unravel ...»