A lot of us were on the bark:
Some framed a sail for windy weather,
The others strongly and together
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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