Anonymous poet 10th century or earlier
Sometimes I plunge through the press of waves
unexpectedly, delving to the earth,
the ocean bed. The waters ferment,
sea-horses foaming.
The whale-mere roars, fiercely rages,
waves beat upon the shore; stones and sand,
seaweed and salt spray, are savagely flung
against the dunes when, wrestling
far beneath the waves, I disturb the earth,
the vast depths of the sea. Nor can I escape
my ocean bed before he permits me who is my pilot
on every journey. Tell me, wise man:
who separates me from the sea's embrace,
when the waters become quiet once more,
the waves calm which before had covered me?
Literature & Landscape 