A MARINE ETCHINGA yacht from its harbour ropes pulled free,And leaped like a steed o’er the race-track blue,Then up behind her the dust of the sea,A gray fog, drifted, and hid her from view.
A yacht from its harbour ropes pulled free,And leaped like a steed o’er the race-track blue,Then up behind her the dust of the sea,A gray fog, drifted, and hid her from view.