Ode to Poseidon
Behold, immortal Poseidon on bellowing steeds
Rushing, foaming in front my tent,
Waving high his mighty trident,
Stirring heaven and making her cry.
'Where are you going?'
'To the seas, to the seas," Poseidon replies.
'Why the rush? Tarry a moment with me.'
'No, no,' he explains, 'There's a troubled sailor at sea.'
Off he jumps over a fallen bough he goes,
With his white, yellow chariots in tow.