The poem
I've been home a long time among the vast porticos, Which the mariner sun has tinged with a million fires, Whose grandest pillars, upright, majestic and cold Render them the same, this evening, as caves with basalt spires.
The swells' overwhelming accords of rich music, Heaving images of heaven to the skies, Mingle in a way solemn and mystic With the colors of the horizon reflected by my eyes.
It was here I was true to the voluptuous calm, The milieu of azure, the waves, the splendors, And the nude slaves, all impregnated with odors,
Who refreshed my brow with waving palms My only care to bring to meaning from anguish The sad secret in which I languish.