Child, in your search I cross the seas: The good waves Bring me to you: The fresh airs Cleanse my flesh From the worms Of the cities; But I go sad Because in the seas For no one can I Pour out my blood. What to me are the waves Calm and the same? What to me are the clouds, Flying jewels? What to me the soft Games of the air? What the angry Voice of hurricanes? To these - I, with a forehead Made to tame them! To the lustful Fleeting kisses Of the gentle Friendly breezes,— My two cheeks Dry and...