In the misty blue sea
There's a lonely white sail!
What's he looking for in a distant country?
What has he left behind in his native land?

The waves play - the wind whistles
And the mast bends and creaks...
Alas, - fortune does not await him.
and neither is he leaving it behind!

Under him streams of lightest azure,
Over him a golden beam of sun...
And he, troubled, asks of the storm,
As thought one could find peace in storms.