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If others, luckier ones, have cut seas through And founded kingdoms, built empires, And seen the round breast of sirens, They should record superb alexandrine verses On marble or bronze or their memory. Years went by, the millennial stones Will have split. Tiny cypresses Will be surrounding demolished walls; The sea will be an oil stain (where will the blown sails of vessels be?) and the air will be yellow. — Because of honey? — Because of sulphur! I swear it on behalf of the pallid moon. — Don’t swear on its behalf as it’s changeable. (The moon was shining.) And the wolf man felt his fright grow, the nails, the hair. (The moon was shining.) And a wise man reckoned of an ancient proverb which claimed that humans may only be a dream of shadows. (The moon was shining.) And wizards were seeking heads of scorpions, flowers of aphrodisiac herbs, the silver medulla of cinnabar. The moon was like a white rose, And lovers’ hugs used to be Long and sweet and terrible. Moon. — Among all, the cherry skin Like a red stream of clotted blood; The one out of ripen grapes, as transparent jx