Steer, hither steer your winged pines,
All beaten mariners!
Here lie Love's undiscover'd mines,
A prey to passengers -
Perfumes far sweeter than the best
Which makes the Phoenix' urn and nest.
Fear not your ships,
Nor any to oppose you save our lips;
But come on shore,
Where no joy dies till Love hath gotten more.

For swelling waves our panting breasts,
Where never storms arise,
Exchange, and be awhile our guests:
For stars gaze on our eyes.
The compass Love shall hourly sing,
And as he goes about the ring,
We will not miss
To tell each point he nameth with a kiss.
- Then come on shore,
Where no joy dies till Love hath gotten more.
~William Browne, Sirens' Song

We asked the orange vendor outside of the Falla theatre how to go to the lighthouse. The direction to there was heading to the hills where sun set. The lighthouse was behind the hills. On the way there, the land was barren and secluded. By the time we could see the lighthouse, it was already a starlit sky with an enormous pale moon shining almost superfluous light.

It was a still night. The lighthouse looked in the haze an immense distance away. But the water splashed on the shore showed too much excitement. It pushed the waves forward and only fell away in green bubbles. The air was chill. I had to bury my face in your chest in order to open my eyelids.

The guard let us climb up to the top of the lighthouse. We could see the boats slowly leaning. The smell of burning charcoals mixed with the taste of the sea drowned us. It was as if breathing was no longer necessary. Only the warmth, our companion, the immensity of the outside world gave us a reason to escape. We must escape somewhere, be alone somewhere. This seemed a good place.

 **The Lighthouse in Cadiz

*** For a better layout, please see: http://bellaliu.blogspot.com/2008/12/where-no-joy-dies-till-love-has-gotten.html