Tan ala tan glaukan otan onemos atrema Balle--k.t.l. <br /> <br />When winds that move not its calm surface sweep <br />The azure sea, I love the land no more; <br />The smiles of the serene and tranquil deep <br />Tempt my unquiet mind.—But when the roar <br />Of Ocean’s gray abyss resounds, and foam <br />Gathers upon the sea, and vast waves burst, <br />I turn from the drear aspect to the home <br />Of Earth and its deep woods, where, interspersed, <br />When winds blow loud, pines make sweet melody. <br />Whose house is some lone bark, whose toil the sea, <br />Whose prey the wandering fish, an evil lot <br />Has chosen.--But I my languid limbs will fling <br />Beneath the plane, where the brook’s murmuring <br />Moves the calm spirit, but disturbs it not.<br /><br />Percy Bysshe Shelley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/from-the-greek-of-moschus/
