Say, young beauty

Say, young beauty,

Where do you wish to go?

The sail swells,

The breeze will blow.

The oar is made of ivory,

The flag is of silk,

The helm is of fine gold;

I have for ballast an orange,

For a sail, the wing of an angel,

For a deck boy, a seraph.

Say, young beauty,

Where do you wish to go?

The sail swells,

The breeze will blow.

Is it to the Baltic?

To the Pacific Ocean?

To the island of Java?

Or else to Norway,

To gather the flower of the snow,

Or the flower of Angsoka?

Say, young beauty,

Where do you wish to go?

The sail swells,

The breeze will blow.

-- Lead me, says the beauty,

To the faithful shore

Where one loves always!

-- This shore, my darling,

We hardly know at all

In the land of Love.