Oft I must strive with wind and wave, Battle them both when under the sea I feel out the bottom, a foreign land. In lying still I am strong in the strife; If I fail in that they are stronger than I, And wrenching me loose, soon put me to rout. They wish to capture what I must keep. I can master them both if my grip holds out, If the rocks bring succor and lend support, Strength in the struggle. Ask me my name!
My attire is noiseless when I tread the earth, Rest in its dwellings or ride its waters. At times my pinions and the lofty air, Lift me high o'er the homes of men, And the strength of the clouds carries me far High over the folk. My feathers gay Sound and make music, singing shrill, When no longer I linger by field or flood, But soar in the air, a wandering spirit.
Quick; quite mum; I die notwithstanding. I lived once, I live again. Everybody lifts me, grips me, and chops off my head, bites my bare body, violates me. I don't bite a man unless he bites me; there are many men who bite me.
Sea suckled me, waves sounded over me, rollers covered me as I rested on my bed. I have no feet and often open my mouth to the flood. Now some man will consume me, who cares nothing for my clothing. With the point of his knife he will rip the skin away from my side, and straight away eat me uncooked as I am.
I saw a woman, solitary, brooding.