Mother's love, and rapture of the sea, whose womb
⁠Breeds eternal life of joy that stings like brine,
Pride of song, and joy to dare the singer's doom,
⁠Sorrow soft as sleep and laughter bright as wine,
⁠Flushed and filled with fragrant fire his lyric line.
As the sea-shell utters, like a stricken chord,
Music uttering all the sea's within it stored,
⁠Poet well-beloved, whose praise our sorrow saith,
So thy songs retain thy soul, and so record
⁠Life so sweet as this that dies and casts off death.

Side by side we mourned at Gautier's golden tomb:
⁠Here in spirit now I stand and mourn at thine.
Yet no breath of death strikes thence, no shadow of gloom,
⁠Only light more bright than gold of the inmost mine,
⁠Only steam of incense warm from love's own shrine.