LDV16

Westward Roves the eye; Eastward Ranges the ship. Fresh blows the wind Homeward: My Irish maid Where do you tarry? Is it the breath of your sighs That fills my sails? Blow, blow, O wind! Woe, ah woe, my maid! My Irish maid, You bold, loving maid! Gérard Pesson (July 2013)