My soul would lift up anchor as a sail
Grown restive for the open, vermeil seas.
O come, O haste, thou quickening vital breeze,
Bewitch me ere my sudden courage fail.
Langorous are the days, becalmed the hours.
My senses sleep, as though within a tomb
Where only night-shade grows and ganja-bloom.
Unfold, O sails, as the impregnate flowers.

The wide sea haunts me to its naked breast
As anchored ships are haunted from their quays.
The wide sea haunts me without leave or rest
From Boreal zones to the Antipodes,
Till I lie white and strangled on the crest
Or deep-drowned in the briny mysteries.