I want to die as the day declines,
at high sea and facing the sky,
while agony seems like a dream
and my soul like a bird that can fly.

To hear not, at this last moment,
once alone with sky and sea,
any more voices nor weeping prayers
than the majestic beating of the waves.

To die when the sad light retires
its golden network from the green waves
to be like the sun that slowly expires;
something very luminous that fades.

To die, and die young, before
fleeting time removes the gentle crown,
while life still says: "I'm yours"
though we know with our hearts that she lies.