(Okay, so I am reading a book of selected poems by Pessoa and aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah all the feeeeels! No other words right now. Might need to write a poem about all the feels!)
Portugese Ocean
Salt-laden sea, how much of all your salt
Is tears of Portugal!
For us to cross you, how many sons have kept
Vigil in vain, and mothers wept!
Lived as old maids how many brides-to-be
Till death, that you might be ours, sea!
Was it worth while? Was it worth while, all,
If the soul is not small.
Whoever means to sail beyond the Cape
Must double sorrow – no escape.
Peril and abyss has God to the sea given
And yet made it the mirror of heaven.
Dom Sebastiao, King of Portugal
Mad, yes, mad, because I would have greatness
Such as Fate gives to none.
No tamping down in me my sureness;
Therefore, where the sand dwells, the worn
Part of me stopped, not the enduring one.
This my madness, accept it, those who can
Dare whatever it needs.
What, without madness, is a man
More than a beast after feeding,
A corpse adjourned, the half-alive breeding?
