Spread your wings; do not tire yourself. It will
take a long time to climb
Back over the Alps, far above to the thundering
There, where the sailor, under the protection of
the narrow fords,
Who has dropped anchor to the
bottom of the
No longer fears the storm and the wildly tossed
Fly, my little bee, on board Norwegian ships.
There you will
Hear: "Trim the sails!" You will see how they run
up the flag
Or smartly climb up into the mesh of rigging.
All around the deck, on the staves, on the spars
You will see many a sinewy arm, many a
Fresh, smooth face of some fellow, also see
Many a trusting glance. Alight there and
When, camped in a circle, you hear old sailor
Of ships tossed in stormy weather.
L'Aquila in the Abruzzi Mountains, April and June 1884
--C[arlo] E[nrico] Ulrichs
(C) 1990 by M. Lombardi-Nash