.Souvent au plus petit souffle de vent,
J'entends des voix en haut des voiles et des haubans,
Murmurer en fredonnant: ce bâteau que tu vois,
Oui celui-là , il est à toi
Mais quand la mère fera ses falbalas,
Devenue folle d'écume et d'éclats,
Surtout quand la nui.
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