In the darkness of the night
Lit by a three quarter moon
The swirling mist hovers
Over rough and ready cobbles
Like old fired cannon-smoke
Ghostly shadows of fighting ships
Clinging to the quay, fallen ancient castles
Masts of tallest red-wood trees
Arms stretched in disarray
A drawbridge of battered sodden wood
With spliced and knotted rope
Drunken press-ganged sailors
Board this shadow of sorrow and no hope
The mist now lightens
With the coming of the morn
Flood tide has reached the top of ebb
The cannon-shot of falling sail
Hemp and three-fold purchase fall upon the deck
Pennants proud, red-wood of mast and castle
Spars with canvas flapping, filling
Sail as fading shadows
Into the hungry seas and coming dawn
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem