The moon rises and washes the brine with silver...

The moon rises and washes the brine with silver;

The dunes like white elephants restfully asleep after the chase;

And the fog comes to bring the moon its veil of shades.

The waves stretch their phosphorescent arms

To embrace the night,

The wind like a wounded gull beats its wings

Over the land, over the sea, into the fog-vested intangibility.

Like a thousand trumpets the breakers

Proclaim the empiry of night,

The rocky caverns send back echoes

Like homage from vassals near and far;

A faint cry seemeth to flash like lightning;

Through the clouds of the roar of waves:

It is not from the rocks, nor from the sea;

Ah! it is the prayer of a mightier ocean — Humanity!