Nothing! this foam and virgin verse
to designate nought but the cup;
such, far off, there plunges a troop
Of many Sirens upside down.
We are navigating, my diverse
Friends! I already on the poop
You the splendid prow which cuts
The main of thunders and of winters;
A fine ebriety calls me
Without fear of its rolling
To carry, upright, this toast
Solitude, reef, star
To whatever it was that was worth
Our sail's white solicitude.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.