124
In Southern Seas.
My helpless boat, rocked in the wind, obeys no steadfast hand.
Her swinging helm and lashing sheet have lost my weak command;
The shrieking sea-birds seek the sheltering shore,
The writhing waves leap upward, and their hoar
Strong hands tear at the timbers of my shuddering craft.
I cry in vain, the Fates have seen and laughed.
Time and the world have stormed my summer sea—
I ate my fruit, the serpent held the tree.
