But the breasts that are enchanted by some mortal passion will not be at peace. The giant clouds also look silver in the lead sky as if the sun is beating the light; as if the age strikes them, they leave behind the mountain. And it's the sea. Its silvery colour gives her the air to move farther away, more back and forth, light green and even back and forth grey—some strange rust. The waves, the greens, the greys and the skies, beyond the sea, the wide, the king brings them north, they fight the rocks; they fight the sand. The boats, the fishing boats, the fear of a captain in the harbour holds them; but my mind is all crawling on the blue side with a golden dream tied. Like a black-eyed seagull, my soul flies, mingles with the soul of the water, and the wind takes it, and the wave takes it. And it's a weather game. And while I'm hurting your pain, and I'm going to your bottom, and I'm getting lost with the foam, then, in your calmness, your solar joy, the sea, I won't enjoy it.