Here is an extract from Pablo Neruda's Memoirs. (Published after his death)

' Sometimes Valparaiso twitches like a wounded whale. It flounders in the air, is in agony, dies, and comes back to life
  Every native of the city carries in him the memory of an earthquake. He is a petal of fear clinging all his life to the city’s heart. Every native is a hero before he is born. Because in the memory of the port itself there is defeat, the shudder of the earth as it quakes and the rumble that surfaces from deep down as if a city under the sea, under the land, were tolling the bells in its buried towers to tell man that it’s all over.
  Sometimes when the walls and roofs have come crashing down in dust and flames, down into the screams and the silence, when everything seems to have been silenced by death once and for all, there rises out of the sea, like the final apparition, the mountainous wave, like a tower of vengeance,  to sweep away whatever life remains within its reach.
  Sometimes it all begins with a vague stirring, and those who are asleep wake up. Sleeping fitfully, the soul reaches down to profound roots, to their very depth under the earth. It has always wanted to know it, and knows it now. And then, during the great tremor, there is nowhere to run, because the gods have gone away, the vainglorious churches  have been ground up into heaps of rubble.
  This is not the terror felt by someone running from a furious bull, a threatening knife, or water that swallows everything. This is a cosmic terror, an instant danger, the universe caving in and crumbling away. And meanwhile, the earth lets out a sound of muffled thunder, in a voice no one knew it had.
  The dust raised by the houses as they came crashing down settles little by little. And we are left alone with our dead, not knowing how we happen to be still alive.'

Like that phrase " a voice no one knew it had." Earth speaks loudly every day in one way or another, but this particular tone of voice is heard rarely.