Whirl up, sea— whirl your pointed pines, splash your great pines on our rocks, hurl your green over us, cover us with your pools of fir.
— Hilda Doolittle
Timeless sea breezes, that for aeons have blown ancient rocks, you are purest space coming from afar… Oh, how a fruit-bearing fig tree feels your coming high up in the moonlight.
— RAINER MARIA RILKE
Implausible fish bloom in the depths, mercurial flowers light up the coast; I know red and yellow, the other colors,— What name is there for the color that arouses this thirst, which says, the saga can happen, even to you—
— EDITH SÖDERGRAN