מַזָּרֹות मोक्ष: Bruma dos Dias

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And the Sea-Peak's Sleipnir slitteth
The stormy breast rain-driven,
The wave, with red stain running
Out of white Rán's mouth.

The stern snow-wind has thrust out
With streght, the ship from landward:
The Swan-Land's steed sees Iceland
Into the surf receding.

Many a stiff rowlock straineth,
And the noisy Strand of Fish-Gear,
The Sea, lands o'ercometh:
Men's hands oft span the stays.

The gray Isle-Fetter urges
Heiti's raven-ship onward;
Gold beaks the fleet ships carry:
Rich that faring to the Chieftain.

The Isle-Rim autumn chilly
Impels the dock´s cold snowshoe.

The cool land's Surging-Girdle
Before the breaks springs asunder.

They say nine brides of skerries
Swiftly move the Sea-Churn

(...)

in The Prose Edda

מַזָּרֹות मोक्ष

From There To Here

Bruma dos Dias

Thunder Prey

To listen To

To Watch For

To See To

To Read To

Finis Gloriae Mundi

Harmonices Mundi

De Occulta Philosophia Libri Tres

Old Scripts

मोक्ष