The flesh is sad, Alas! and I have read all the books. <br />Let’s go! Far off. Let’s go! I sense <br />that the birds, intoxicated, fly <br />deep into unknown spume and sky! <br />Nothing – not even old gardens mirrored by eyes – <br />can restrain this heart that drenches itself in the sea, <br />O nights, or the abandoned light of my lamp, <br />on the void of paper, that whiteness defends, <br />no, not even the young woman feeding her child. <br />I will go! Steamer, straining at your ropes <br />lift your anchor towards an exotic rawness! <br />A Boredom, made desolate by cruel hope <br />still believes in the last goodbye of handkerchiefs! <br />And perhaps the masts, inviting lightning, <br />are those the gale bends over shipwrecks, <br />lost, without masts, without masts, no fertile islands... <br />But, oh my heart, listen to the sailors’ chant!<br /><br />Stéphane Mallarmé<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sea-breeze-2/
