Vita Nuova

I stood by the unvintageable sea

      Till the wet waves drenched face and hair with spray,

      The long red fires of the dying day

Burned in the west; the wind piped drearily;

And to the land the clamorous gulls did flee:

      'Alas!' I cried, 'my life is full of pain,

      And who can garner fruit or golden grain

From these waste fields which travail ceaselessly!'

My nets gaped wide with many a break and flaw,

      Natheless I threw them as my final cast

      Into the sea, and waited for the end.

When lo! a sudden glory! and I saw

      From the black waters of my tortured past

      The argent splendour of white limbs ascend!