Poseidon of the white-capped waves, dark-haired
god of the the cold salt sea, of raging rivers
and sweetwater springs, ancient one, in Knossos
and in Thebes your name was known, carved with care
on tablets of clay, spoken softly, prayerfully,
in old Mycenae. World-shaker, god who holds
in hand the bones of the deep earth, in Corinth
were you well honored with games of skill and prowess;
throughout the land your temples stood, shining and tall.
The sea depths are yours, Poseidon; your palace lies
on the ocean floor, far removed from Olympos’ heights
and yet a glorious dwelling in your wondrous realm.
Bearer of the trident, stirrer of storms, master
of horses, granter to mankind of many gifts,
Poseidon, mighty son of Kronos, I praise you.