The Treasure Ship returns to harbour.
The wave disappears without a trace.

Heureux qui, comme Ulysse,
a fait un beau voyage.

Happy the hero,
who dies full of years
under the tumulus
with his sword.

Happy the young man
who dies young
beloved of the Gods.

Happy, too, is Vanity.

The wave subsides without a trace.
Who will rejoice in its arising
and lament it in its passing?

Who will write its history
with words of vinegar and honey;
how it arose and how it pressed,
against an empty sky?

Who will cast flowers
on the empty ocean?

.