Henrik Ibsen. (№ 285060)

Petrel lives on the crest of the cliff, -
I heard from an old sailor.
It sparkles in the foam wings and moans
Glides over the waves in the sea does not sink,
Swinging slowly on shaky azure,
When calm and silent screams before the storm.
It flies under the cloud, with the ridges nearby,
As our dreams between heaven and hell.
Heavy he air to air, easy to sea.
Here, the bird is a poet, and joy and sorrow.
And worst of all, the scientist cautiously
The story of the seaman would be considered a mere fairy tale.