Breeze off the Sea
(a translation of 'Brise marine' by Stéphane Mallarmé)

Indulgence has I fear grown dismal now.
As for my books I've read them all. To flee's
the answer - far away! Swallows know how
to skim across the foam of unknown seas.
Nothing - no ancient gardens mirrored by
her eyes can lure me from that spray, those skies,
nor lonely lamplight where my pages lie
unwritten on, too white - each warns, denies -
nor yet that baby at her mother's breast.
Somewhere's a ship with swaying masts. I'll leave
to seek another world, unfound, unguessed.
Bored, cruelly let down, I still believe
that handkerchiefs may flutter in farewell.
Masts can draw lightning, in the tempest all
...