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Ugly I am, capacious, brazen, round,

And hang between high heaven and the ground,

Seething with billows and aglow with flame.

Thus, as it were, I’m vexed upon two fronts

By both these raging elements at once.

What’s my name?

( = Cauldron)

(translation: Richard WILBUR)

I share now with the surf one destiny

In rolling cycles when each month repeats.

As beauty in my brilliant form repeats,

So too the surges fade in cresting sea

( = Moon)

I am bright white, born ages ago of the gleaming pelican

Who takes the waters of the sea into his open mouth.

Now I travel a narrow path over white-glowing fields

I leave blue footprints along the shining way

Obscuring bright fields with my blackened windings

It is not enough for me to open one pathway through the fields

Rather, the road runs its course in a thousand byways

And leads those who stray not to the heights of Heaven

( = A Writing Quill)