Italiam non sponte sequor.
(Aeneid IV, Virgil)

When I had . . . tragically . . .
Turned from that tearful pyre
And was alone,
The image of a taper burned,
Forking its eye in me
Who lay undone.

Italy, Italy . . . away . . .
The sea's seed is more hopeful than the flame's;
So I must sail.
Has pity power
To find redemption in the fears
That ride the gale?

The poetry and the pity,
My only instruments, alike,
Shall bear no blame.
With each death
Innocence renews. Myself
And storms remain.