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…

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