On the clouds, moors of heaven,
skidding by, oh would to fly, as
a cloud in a rushing, driving gale.
Wind screaming, tearing, wearing,
lift the trees and raise the stones!
Topple moors and masts alike, and
drive the waves to foaming roar, on
the rocks of the wine-dark sea. On
the edge of the wine-dark sea. Driving,
driving, lifting, falling, speed my lover
home to me. Home to me, home to me,
upon the raging wine-dark sea. To me
across the empty sea.