The mariners are asleep
silence reigns over the distant hill
the sea has lost its rage
every wavelet lies serene and still.
Echoes of violin strains
are fading, fading away
receding, receding into the sombre night
the horizon looks like a blemished painting in misty grey.
The song has been sung
and the last note of the symphony
is sinking, sinking, dissolving, dissolving
gone, gone is the poignancy of every melody.
The poem has been written
of fresh themes the poet hopes to dream
he looks at the pale sky through the window
where neither the moon nor the stars shed a beam.