.Le ciel est bleu, le vent du large
Creuse la mer bien joliment.
Vers le port, montant à la charg',
Galopent ses escadrons blancs.
C'est un port tout au bord du mond'
Dont les rues s'ouvrent sur l'infini
Mais de là , comm' la terre est ronde,
On n' voit pas les Ãtats-Uni.
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