The rampant cane fields rife with disease,
the ocean carrying only shells to the altar,
a beach left to penitents, their easy sweat
cursing the sand that brought an increase ...
Her nature is the sea's, that smiles to-night
A radiant maiden in the moon's soft light;
The unsuspecting seaman sets his sails,
Forgetful of the fury of her gales;
To-morrow, mad with storms, the ocean roars,
And o'er his hapless wreck the flood she pours!