Авторы текста: William Butler Yeats
Running to Paradise
Em Hm As I came over Windy Gap D Am They threw a halfpenny into my cap, G C D For I am running to Paradise; G D And all that I need do is to wish Am C And somebody puts his hand into dish Em Hm To throw me a bit of salted fish: D Em And there the king is but as the beggar. My brother Mourteen is worn out In skelping his big brawling lout, And I am running to Paradise; A poor life, do what he can, And though he keep a dog and a gun, A serving-maid and a serving-man: And there the king is but as the beggar. Poor men have grown to be rich men, And rich men grown to be poor again, And I am running to Paradise; And many a darling wit's grown dull That tossed a bare heel when at school Now it has filled an old sock full: And there the king is but as the beggar. The wind is old and still at play While I must hurry upon my way, For I am running to Paradise; Yet never have I lit on a friend To take my fancy like the wind That nobody can buy or bind: And there the king is but as the beggar.