Nothing: the moonligh Nothing: the breez
For sure there are, on remoter seas
Than mere containing of thoughts and dreams,
More earthless sorrows, less lucid gleam
Care, and the fret of not having aught
If there, yet weigh not on life and though
Was it the music that came or ended?
Was it that it lost me or that it blended
With that of me that was born to hear it?
A voiceless sighing incarnate spirit,
A murmur of waters that somewhere shine,
A moonlight of dreaming it, a curious wine,