.
Under the cold light gray frame
hole buccaneers, privateers At
old nest! - In the storm, your
Sleep good sleep on your granite
cellars that haunts the flow ...
Hums the sea, the breeze hums;
Ta horn in the gray mist,
Your sea legs in the breakers ...
- Sleep: You can close your
blind eye on the wide open, and eyeing
The English, for three hundred years.
- Sleep, entrenched old hull;
The Margate and cormorants
Your poets
hurricanes will come to sing the tide ...
- Sleep-old daughter to sailors
Plus does get drunk these waters
Who made you a belt
Golden, nights of red wine,
With blood, fire! - Sleep ... On your breast
Gold will melt more and frying.
- Where are the names of your lovers ...
- The sea and the glory were crazy! -
Names lads! names of giants!
spit blunderbusses mouths of ...
Where they fought, these flags, scarves
your heaven in rags! ...
- Dors leaden sky on your dunes ...
sleep: no longer will ricochet
The bullets dead on your steeple
Riddled - like a plum - plum ...
- Sleep: under the black chimneys
Listens dream your children
Foams ninety years
Wrecks of great years ...
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . He sleeps
your good iron cannon,
Flat-belly also in its soils,
Hailed by the moons of winter ... He sleeps
his heavy sleep of rust.
- Va: hums in the wind, old buzzer,
still hold your mouth rabid
deflected English! ... In lean, and responsible
rush submarine flower
(Tristan Corbiere Loves Yellow )
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