Out of the jetty slip the dark bark rides, 
As I more leave, each day, the man-leafed tree, 
Hearing the Norse tell how they sail the sea.
Each day I see the ropes between us cut,
“A ship, for safety, must have one plank sorb,”
As the Norse say, “The Hanged Man died on sorb.”
I leave no man, but from all men I part, 
Setting forth gently on the boiling water,
Not more alone, but less; as the Norse say, 
“Thor died on sorb; the sorb is Thor’s salvation!”