Little rosy clouds
hung high in the clear sky,
Seeming to melt in the azure depths
as they floated slowly.
The moon doth soar o'er vales of weeping willows,
Thru' clouds she gleams
And from on high she rules the briny billows
With her beautiful magic beams.
Thou art,the moon stirs my soul's tide
Its boundless sea-
Which ebbs and flows with grief and joy
Where shoals bide,in tune with thee...
The countless waves of the sea,
The exuberance of ailess winds,
Echos the song of freedom...
That makes my heart to fleet...