I sing my love, his face and mouth,
My compass of fair winds, due south;
He fills my sail, he plots my course-
He knows the seas are my true source.
The Moon is his; and more, the stars,
While we gently row the oars;
The Sun's aloof, though he care not-
For he sails higher yet, in thought.
He knows the wrecks beneath the waves,
And desperate sailors he has saved;
And mermaids find in him, their home-
When far from their grottoes, thrown.
He has a secret name, not known,
On my lips, forever unspoken;
But Love's in him, and mystery too-
Time will never touch a few.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem