Читать книгу Song-Surf - Rice Cale Young - Страница 6

Oh, fisher-fleet, go in from the sea

And furl your wings.

The bay is gray with the twilit spray

And the loud surf springs.

The chill buoy-bell is rung by the hands

Of all the drowned,

Who know the woe of the wind and tow

Of the tides around.

Go in, go in! Oh, haste from the sea,

And let them rest —

A son and one who was wed and one

Who went down unblest.

Aye, even as I, whose hands at the bell

Now labour most.

The tomb has gloom, but Oh, the doom

Of the drear sea-ghost!

He evermore must wander the ooze

Beneath the wave,

Forlorn – to warn of the tempest born,

And to save – to save!

Then go, go in! and leave us the sea,

For only so

Can peace release us and give us ease

Of our salty woe.