Barcarola
A craftless ship afloat ill-tempered waters
With neither star nor compass to avail,
Blown on those wintry gales far from safe quarters,
Caught-fast upon a reef my yawl did flail;
For tempests of the heart will hard pursue
On passion’s tides that run love’s ocean deep,
Those ships of lovers seeking harbours new
In ports where love’s rare booty they would reap;
And wisdom’s compass is no guide for lovers,
Infatuation’s stars do but deceive,
To foil intrepid sailors, like all others,
And dash them on those ragged rocks to grieve.
Lament no more my barcarola triste,
For love is least where doleful tears persist!
Found your blog via averagesouthafrican.wordpress.com and I must say it is an awesome read loving it.
Thanks for the great feedback Andrew. Most kind
Really kind of you to drop by Andrew, thanks for the great feedback!
As a Sailor myself, I am drawn to your lines which set adrift the mind from tether shore.
Ah, to sail again… would that winds of whims could blow by barque beyond imagination’s shores!