Paul Boccaccio

Forþon nu min hyge hweorfeð ofer hreþerlocan, min modsefa mid mereflode, ofer hwæles eþel hweorfeð wide, eorþan sceatas—cymeð eft to me gifre ond grædig; gielleð anfloga, hweteð on hwælweg hreþer unwearnum ofer holma gelagu.

And now my spirit twists out of my breast, my spirit out in the waterways, over the whale’s path it soars widely through all the corners of the world—it comes back to me eager and unsated; the lone-flier screams, urges onto the whale-road the unresisting heart across the waves of the sea.

—excerpted from The Seafarer