A lot of us were on the bark:
Some framed a sail for windy weather,
The others strongly and together
Moved oars. In silence sunk,
Keeping a rudder, strong and clever,
The skipper drove the heavy skiff;
And I — with careless belief —
I sang for sailors… . But the stiff
Whirl smashed at once the waters’ favor…
All dead — the captain and his guard! —
But I, the enigmatic bard,
Was thrown to the shore alone.
I sing the former anthems, yet,
And dry my mantle, torn and wet,
In beams of sun under a stone.
Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin