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 A lot of us were on the bark:
Some framed a sail for windy weather,
The others strongly and together
Moved oars.
In silence sunk, Keeping a rudder, strong and clever, The skipper drove the heavy skiff; And I -- with careless belief -- I sang for sailors.
But the stiff Whirl smashed at once the waters' favor.
All dead -- the captain and his guard! -- But I, the enigmatic bard, Was thrown to the shore alone.
I sing the former anthems, yet, And dry my mantle, torn and wet, In beams of sun under a stone.

by Alexander Pushkin
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