Old Ocean, great celibate when you survey the solemn solitude of your stolid kingdoms, you rightly pride yourself on your innate splendour and on the true eulogies that I hasten to attribute you. Voluptuously swayed by the soft effluvia of your majestic deliberation.
The grandest among those characteristics which the sovereign power has conferred upon you in the midst of a somber mystery, with the calm sense of your eternal strength, you unfurl all along your sublime surface your incomparable waves. Parallel, they follow each other, separated by short intervals. And hardly has one abated then another follows, growing, to meet it.
They are accompanied by the melancholy sound of foam dissolving, to warn us that all is foam.
Your moral magnitude, Image of the Infinite, is vast as the philosopher's meditation, woman's love, the heavenly beauty of a bird, or the musings of the poet. You are more beautiful than the night.
Answer me, Ocean, do you want to be my brother?
Answer me, Ocean, do you want to be my sister?
Answer me, Ocean, do you want to be my father?
Answer me, Ocean, do you want to be my mother?"