I have found sanctuary
under the blossoms
where the bees make music
in a white spring.

I have found rest
where the sea
unravels her foam
over the black rocks.

But the bee is a glutton,
clamorous, bloated with honey,
a fool, an unwitting pandar
to the blossoms;
and the sea is a very resdess woman,
a weeping strumpet, who in vain importunes
the race of men,
seeking a lover to her bed.

And all I have desired on earth,
all I have longed for really,
is the peace
and the forgetting
of the instant of love;
and the flat calm of death.