The flowery shoulders now in the snow
And the ivory tresses in the wind.
Dead water in the brow, the pensive
Tinted halo of the moon when it rains.

Oh what a clamour in the brief breast;
What a palm in air the solitary breath,
What a floe caught in the firmament,
The bare foot, with the courage to die!

Arms of the sea, crossed, on the frozen
Salver of night; cold breasts,
From which, rigid, dawn is served;

Oh legs like two celestial rivers,
Mauve-moon-of-ice, shrouded
Beneath the oceans of my eyes!