Peace, peace, Love. Rest your foundered soul and weep.
Only your tears will dry your eyes, my darling,
Darling, darling girl.
Do not lament I sail their salty sea,
For their current will carry me home
To the garden of Hesperides,
And water the tree of memory.
I could not stay, nor could I stay my leave;
The throat halyard is strained by cries of those who grieve.
I could not bear the world that bore me;
Alas, I am no Atlas for my Pleione.
And so to the House of the Moirai.
Sisters, why a hawser when a thread would do?
Perhaps their ragged clippings piled too deeply,
Deeply, deeply, Love.
Yet could you taste the apple given me,
Golden skinned but fleshed of sorrow,
Its bitterness would be bittersweet
For knowing that I need eat no more.
Peace, my darling,
Darling, darling girl, peace.