Oldal 11 [11]
OCR
All in the golden afternoon Full leisurely we glide ; For both our oars, with little skill, By little arms are plied, While little hands make vain pretence Our wanderings to guide. Ah, cruel Three! In such an hour, Beneath such dreamy weather, Io beg a tale of breath too weak To stir the tiniest feather ! Yet what can one poor voice avail Against three tongues together ?
