And aye, it were of these waves rolling under the broad bow of the Spinakker
That one could see his long lost gaze to sail, would be drawn to another vessel,
Such a shining mariner's vision: if only she could be his delivery of passage...
But, alas his great main sheet of a nose, would permit no dream alive,
And hence, turned down his sight, to the water's white-frothed offerings.
Once, and again as in times past, lent it to guide his ignoble ship
Recount time upon time, the ringing pain in sore ears wincing
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem