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It is dark here under ground—it is not evil or pain
here—it is blank here, for reasons.

29. It seems to me that everything in the light and air
ought to be happy,
Whoever is not in his coffin and the dark grave, let
him know he has enough.

30. I see a beautiful gigantic swimmer swimming naked
through the eddies of the sea,
His brown hair lies close and even to his head—
he strikes out with courageous arms—he urges
himself with his legs,
I see his white body—I see his undaunted eyes,
I hate the swift-running eddies that would dash him
head-foremost on the rocks.

31. What are you doing, you ruffianly red-trickled waves?
Will you kill the courageous giant? Will you kill
him in the prime of his middle age?

32. Steady and long he struggles,
He is baffled, banged, bruised—he holds out while
his strength holds out.
The slapping eddies are spotted with his blood—
they bear him away—they roll him, swing him,
turn him.
His beautiful body is borne in the circling eddies,
it is continually bruised on rocks.
Swiftly and out of sight is borne the brave corpse.

33. I turn, but do not extricate myself.
Confused, a past-reading, another, but with darkness
yet.