.

Black bird on my shoulder,

A young crow is aquothing,

It has removed the boulder

Or was it but clothing?

The omens have spoken

And the bone dice have been cast,

Virgil stands atop the mast

A ship not yet broken;

What see his elvish eyes

Upon the seas and their rhyes?

It is for the sailor’s heart

Only to know this part.

.

Even eighty days might not be enough to cross this sea…