Aurora’s fair wind drives,
and morning blossoms golden
as the honey of a hundred hives,
wind, and light, woven.
Pinioned in their numbered lives
men predict her calm horizon:
in azure innocence she dives,
fathomless her passion.
Thus, the lovesick grow emboldened.
On dreams of couplings Venus thrives,
inscrutable, remains elusive,
as the sailor’s art survives.
Perpetual her constellation
of fair winds and gentle ocean.