Windfilled sails send worthy ships
Racing along the surf.
Cut the lines, the bow declines
in a bobbing, slapping dearth
'mid angry waves and drifting staves
scorched by a burning sun...
So taut the lines! Strain the pines!
Slash the bounding main!
Be not afraid of the course we've made.
Let hardy adventure reign!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem