When the North Sea stubbornly breaks at high dunes
And white flakes of foam on the crowns
When the gruff flood hits the black basalt
And the gray mist falls over dike and dune
When at low tide the beach is wild as a desert
And wet westerly winds of venom
Then my country is fighting, my flat country
When the rain falls on streets, squares, and beds
On roof and steeple of sky-high churches
Who in this flat country are the only mountains
When people are dwarfs under the clouds
When the days go in stupid regularity
And spherical east wind makes the country even flatter
Then my country, my flat country, waits
When the low air shaves flat over the water
When the low air teaches us humility
When the low air is gray as slate
When the low air is faded as boulder clay
When the north wind divides the plain
When the north wind steals our breath
Then my country creaks, my flat land
When the scheldt shines in southern sun
And every Flemish woman is strolling in a sun-dress
When the first spider weaves its spring webs
Or steaming the field in July sunlight trembles
When the south wind bursts through the grain
When the south wind jubilates along the track
Then my country, my flat country, applauds
Only among all we can make this a better place :)