At The Windmill

About the windmill, the old ruin, when The smile of dawn shines in its rosy tinge, The fisherboys now stir the silent air With sudden ringing shouts and joyful plays; And the light barks that, fastened, wait their coming, Flutter impatiently like flapping wings Of birds whose feet are bound. And all about, The lake-like sea revels in shimmers white Like a wide-open pearl shell on the beach.

About the windmill, the old ruin, when The noon's beams burn like red-hot iron bars, A laden sleep draws with its heavy breath All weary skippers and all mariners: The harpoons creak not in the hand's hard clasp; The fish alone stir in the realm of dew; The calm lagoon about is all agleam, A shield of silver, plaited with pure gold.

Far by the windmill, the old ruin, when The sun is setting, decked in all his glory, The boys go running, looking for pumice stones; And lads and lasses, for sweet furtive glances; And old men, lingering for memories. Old age is calm, and youth considerate. And the lagoon about, a purple glow, A garden thickly planted with blue gentians.

Far by the windmill, the old ruin, when The secret midnight glides by silently, Sea Nereids, brought on the wings of air From the sea caves of Fairies on their steeds Of mist with manes of radiating light, Sing songs, and bathe their diamond forms, and love, While round about the princess-like lagoon Wears as her royal robe the star-spun sky.

Far by the windmill, the old ruin, ere The smile of dawn shine with its rosy tinge, The hosts of tyrant slayers mount from below And kiss the earth war-nurtured and war-glad. They raise again the ruin to a castle With rifles singing back to victories; And the lagoon is full of flashes swift, Like a dark eye kindled with fiery wrath.