SONNET IV
ON THE BEACH AT BARCELONA, RETURNING FROM ROME

I love to see the ocean when it's angry,
and mountains builds of water upon mountains,
and the well-travelled pilot (who must hide,
so prudently, his fear) beset with doubt.

I also love to see it when it bathes
the shore so slightly, flattering in milk
one who is lead by guilt, or by his greed,
some scarlet Cardinal's hat to ferret out.

I love it rough, and when it is serene;
to safely see it, I say, from without,
and this man frightened see, that one deceived.
not because their ill luck pleases me,

but knowing that I'm free upon the shore,
and of the false sea finally undeceived.