If you, my dear, were guardian of the sea that roars,
Subjecting my poor island to your pounding waves,
This choice I could have: yielding to your flood that pours
O’er me, like the deluge, or to retain my ways.
Immovable though I may seem to you, I fear
Becoming so immersed it makes my life seem dim.
O take not my unwav’ring life from me, my dear.
Hold me, and do not drown me, as I learn to swim.
Above all else, I fear that I would cease to be;
Retreating from the battering force of your great tide;
When, with a quaking movement, feel you smother me.
Attempts to stand my ground all stem from hollow pride.
Of all these petty fears I have that could come true:
Far worse to learn you love me not, as I love you.
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