On the seashore of endless worlds the children meet with shouts
and dances.

They build their houses with sand and they play with empty
shells. With withered leaves they weave their boats and
smilingly float them on the vast deep. Children have their play
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 get wrecked in the trackless water,
death is abroad and children play. On the seashore of endless
worlds is the great meeting of children.


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 there,
in the fairy village among shadows of the forest dimly lit with
glow-worms, there hang two timid buds of enchantment. From there
it comes to kiss baby's eyes.