Читать книгу Nirvana Days - Rice Cale Young - Страница 12

The fishermen bade their wives farewell,

(The sun floated merry up the morning)

They sang, to the rhythm of the low-swung swell,

"O come, lads, scorning

The highlands high,

There's no warning

In the blue south sky,

There's no warning,

O come, lads, free,

We'll cross the harbor bar and put to sea!"

The fisherwives prayed, the sails blew fast,

(O home it is happy where there's hoping)