Spangled in electric half-moons I ran wild,
Shard of crazed timber driven on by dark seahorses,
While pounded by the cudgels of too many Julys 
The skies sank down fiery funnels to their sources.

From fifty leagues I caught wind, shivering me through,
Of gaping Maelstroms, the rutting Behemoths’ bawl;
Skimming on eternities of immense still blue
I thirst for dear Europe's ancient mossy walls.

I’ve seen archipelagoes in the stars! Isles,
Delirious heavens calling all mariners to flight:
In such depthless nights do you sleep out your exile,
O million golden birds, o future Might?