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Ирина Варабей
The Sail Is Idle, The Sailor too... West wind, blow from your prairie nest, Blow from the mountains, blow from the west. The sail is idle, the sailor too; O! wind of the west, we wait for you. Blow, blow! I have wooed you so, But never a favour you bestow. You rock your cradle the hills between, But scorn to notice my white lateen. “The Song my Paddle Sings”, (с) E. Pauline Johnson-Tekahionwake |