on the seashore of worlds.

They know not how to swim, they know not how to cast nets.
Pearl-fishers dive for pearls, merchants sail in their ships,
while children gather pebbles and scatter them again. They seek
not for hidden treasures, they know not how to cast nets.

The sea surges up with laughter, and pale gleams the smile of the
sea-beach. Death-dealing waves sing meaningless ballads to the
children, even like a mother while rocking her baby's cradle.
The sea plays with children, and pale gleams the smile of the
sea-beach.

On the seashore of endless worlds children meet. Tempest roams
in the pathless sky, ships are wrecked in the trackless water,
death is abroad and children play. On the seashore of endless
worlds is the great meeting of children.




THE SOURCE


The sleep that flits on baby's eyes--does anybody know from where
it comes? Yes, there is a rumour that it has its dwelling where,
in the fairy village among shadows of the forest dimly lit with
glow-worms, there hang two shy buds of enchantment. From there
it comes to kiss baby's eyes.