We slake our fierce thirst from the cup of the sky;
Its azure hath fathomless depths to exhaust;
Translucent within it worlds numberless lie;
With the gold of the dawn its rim is embossed.
The life is divine,
We drink with such wine.
Allanamoulin, Allanamoulin.
Our blood beats in time with the palpitant stars,
Our paddles in harmony rise and fall;
We cease from our labour, and life is a farce;