Black lake, black boat, two black, cut-paper people.
Where do the black trees go that drink here?
Their shadows must cover Canada.
A little light is filtering from the water flowers.
Their leaves do not wish us to hurry:
They are round and flat and full of dark advice.
Cold worlds shake from the oar.
The spirit of blackness is in us, it is in the fishes.
A snag is lifting a valedictory, pale hand;
Stars open among the lilies.
Are you not blinded by such expressionless sirens?
This is the silence of astounded souls.
In Caria there is a Mount Latmus, which has a cave containing the shepherd Endymion, a youth of surpassing beauty. Selene, the moon, found him there one night, lay beside him, and kissed his eyes. He sleeps there permanently in a magic trance, never growing older, as a captive of the moon.