Cleaving a sea that is rough and grey!
Cargoes come to the port at last:
Ashes and Dead Sea fruit are they.
The climax this of a soul-less play—
We were the stars of a soul-less cast—
Over a sea that is rough and grey
Drifts our boat, with a broken mast.
No more verses in praise of Wine!
Yet, through a tangle of years and strife,
Constant still do her true eyes shine—