With shouts of joy, I lift to my lips
A brazen bugle. I blow
A blast into air, beckoning to my ships
That lie in wait below.
And from the decks, like plaques they pour,
My comrades ten, to sack the town,
To carry off the wealth of war:
Some coins, a king, a crown.
The people think that I am mad,
Because I waste my time with toys.
But let them say that I am mad—
I’m still at heart a boy.
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