a comparasion

When the wind strikes gently upon a sea that is blue,
this craven heart is roused within me, and my love of the land
yields to the desire of the great water. But when the deep waxes
grey and loud, and the sea begins to swell and to foam and the waves
run long and wild, then took I unto the shore and its trees and depart from
the brine, then welcome is the land to me and pleasant the shady greenwood,
where, be the wind never so high, the pine-trees sing her song. O ti’s ill
to be a fisher with a ship for his house and the sea for his labour and
the fishes for his slippery prey. Rather it is sleep beneath the leafy plane
for me, and the sound hard by of a bubbling spring such as delights
and do not disturb the rustic ear.

Moschus

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