A sail, alone, on billowed waves,
Is flashing white through fog’s blue sea!
Who knows what distant lands it craves?
What made it leave its own country?
The waves are playing, wind is squeaking,
The mast is groaning at the nape…
But happiness the sail’s not seeking,
Nor would it happiness escape...
Below, a bright blue stream is endless,
Above, gold rays of sun abound,
But it, rebellious, asks for tempests,
As if in tempests, peace were found.
-translation Dave Bennett
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem