Dante

The sea I sail has never yet been passed;

Minerva breathes, and pilots me Apollo,

And Muses nine point out to me the Bears.

Ye other few who have the neck uplifted

Betimes to th' bread of Angels upon which

One liveth here and grows not sated by it,

Well may you launch upon the deep salt-sea

Your vessel, keeping still my wake before you

Upon the water that grows smooth again.

~ Dante