Стыхы
Привёл давешний стих erwin_langman в тот вид, в каковом ему надлежит пребывать по определению.
You build your Empire with nor whiskey nor ale
Nor music of ancient gods --
The song of Empire is the whirring of plane,
The racket of axe cuttining oak
An oaken plank and a bench and a boat
Are bed for The Lion of olds,
No Scot and no Erin will build a Dreadnaught,
John Bull is the master of works
The cry of the crows in the morning of freezing,
And Tower in snow firmly stands, --
What, Highland has risen? And Ireland uneasy? --
Stay calm, England watches o'er Thames.
The scarlet of coats, the canvas of Navy:
Each year the realm steadily grows...
No Scot and no Erin would take on the labour --
They're dancing, a sweet merry folk
They'll mutiny later, but it won't be recorded --
The history's making no guess:
From deck Nelson walks to the realm of immortal
So calm -- for the ENGLAND EXPECTS
You build your Empire with nor whiskey nor ale
Nor music of ancient gods --
The song of Empire is the whirring of plane,
The racket of axe cuttining oak
An oaken plank and a bench and a boat
Are bed for The Lion of olds,
No Scot and no Erin will build a Dreadnaught,
John Bull is the master of works
The cry of the crows in the morning of freezing,
And Tower in snow firmly stands, --
What, Highland has risen? And Ireland uneasy? --
Stay calm, England watches o'er Thames.
The scarlet of coats, the canvas of Navy:
Each year the realm steadily grows...
No Scot and no Erin would take on the labour --
They're dancing, a sweet merry folk
They'll mutiny later, but it won't be recorded --
The history's making no guess:
From deck Nelson walks to the realm of immortal
So calm -- for the ENGLAND EXPECTS