Mundura igorri zenuen, ama,

moldatuz koralez eta bitsez gorputz hura,

orraztu zenion adats epelean uhin bat

eta haizatu zenuen etxetik kanpora.

 

Gau ilunean hirirantz jo zuen mantso isilean     

eta etzalekua atondu gorape batean,

bitsezko hegidun soinekoaz, neskatila tristeak.

 

Eta ez ahizpa bat ere, ez anaiarik

haren laguntza-eskea entzuteko, erantzuteko haren negarrari.

Begitartea dirdiran zuen adats epelaren artetik

zeru goian ilargi ñimiño bat iduri.

 

Saldu zituen koralak; saldu zuen bitsa;

maskor kantari iduriko haren ostadar-bihotza

hautsi zitzaion barnean: mantso itzuli zen atzera etxera.

 

Zaude lasai, itzuli mundura, alaba nirea,

lurralde ilunera, alaba, itzuli;

deusik ez da hemen ez bada itsas ur tristea

eta eskutada bete harea eralki.

 

 

The Sea-Child

Into the world you sent her, mother, / Fashioned her body of coral and foam, / Combed a wave in her hair's warm smother, / And drove her away from home. // In the dark of the night she crept to the town / And under a doorway she laid her down, / The little blue child in the foam-fringed gown. // And never a sister and never a brother / To hear her call, to answer her cry. / Her face shone out from her hair's warm smother / Like a moonkin up in the sky. // She sold her corals; she sold her foam; / Her rainbow heart like a singing shell / Broke in her body: she crept back home. // Peace, go back to the world, my daughter, / Daughter, go back to the darkling land; / There is nothing here but sad sea water, / And a handful of sifting sand.