Sail Far Sea Poems

[ThistleCap]

SEA FEVER
BY John Masefield (1878-1967)  English Poet Laureate (1930-1967)

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied,
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way, where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow rover,
And a quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

[ThistleCap]

THE SAILOR'S GRAVE   
     By Eliza Cook

Our bark was out, far, far from land,
When the fairest of our gallant band,
Grew sadly pale, and waned away
Like the twilight of an autumn day.
We watched him through long hours of pain;
But our cares were lost, our hopes were vain;
Death brought for him no coward alarm,
For he smiled as he died on a messmate's arm.

He had no costly winding sheet,
But we placed a round shot at his feet,
And he slept in his hammock as safe and sound
As a king in his lawn shroud, marble-bound.
We proudly decked his funeral vest
With the English flag upon his breast;
We gave him that as the badge of the brave;
And then he was fit for his sailor's grave.

Our voices broke, our hearts turned weak
Hot tears were seen on the brownest cheek;
And a quiver played on the lips of pride,
As we lowered him down the ship's dark side.
A plunge, a splash, and our task was o'er;
The billows rolled as they rolled before;
But many a rude prayer hallowed the wave
That closed above the sailor's grave.

[ThistleCap]

THE MEN BEHIND THE GUNS
   By John Jerome Rooney

A cheer and salute for the Admiral,
And here's to the Captain bold,
And never forget the Commodore's debt
When deeds of might are told.
They stand to the deck through the battle's wreck
When the great shells roar and screech,
And never they fear when the foe is near
To practice what they preach.
But off with your hat and three times three
For Columbia's true-blue sons,
The men below who battle the foe,
The men behind the guns!

Oh, light and merry of heart are they
When they swing into port once more,
When, with more than enough of the green-back stuff
They start for their leave-o' shore;
And you'd think, perhaps, that the blue-bloused chaps
Who loll along the street,
Are a tender bit, with salt on it,
For some fierce mustache to eat---
Some warrior bold, with straps of gold,
Who dazzles and fairly stuns
The modest worth of the sailor boys--
The lads who serve the guns!

But say not a word till the shot is heard
That tells the fight is on,
Till the long, deep roar grows more and more
From the ships of Yank or Don.
Till over the deep and tempests' sweep
Of fire and bursting shell,
And the very air is a mad Despair
In the throes of a living heck;
Then down, deep down, in the mighty ship,
Unseen by the midday suns,
You'll find the chaps who are giving the raps---
The men behind the guns!

Oh, well they know how the cyclones blow
That they loose from their cloud of death,
And they know is heard the thunder-word
Their fierce ten-incher saith!
The steel decks rock with the lightning shock,
And shake with the great recoil,
And the sea grows red with the blood of the dead
And reaches for his spoil--
But not till the foe goes down below
Or turns his prow and runs,
Shall the voice of peace bring sweet release
To the men behind the guns!

[ThistleCap]

DERELICT   
     By Young E. Allison

Fifteen men on the Dead Man's Chest---
Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!
Drink and the devil had done the rest---
Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!
The mate was fixed by the bos'n's pike,
The bos'n brained with a marlinspike,
And cookey's throat was marked belike,
It had been gripped by fingers ten;
And there they lay, all good dead men,
Like break-o-day in a boozing-ken---
Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!

Fifteen men of a whole ship's list---
Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!
Dead and bedamned and the rest gone whist!
Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!
The skipper lay with his nob in gore,
Where the scullion's ax his cheek had shore,
And the scullion he was stabbed times four.
And there they lay, and the soggy skies
Dripped all day long in upstaring eyes,
At murk sunset and at foul sunrise---
Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!

Fifteen men of 'em stiff and stark---
Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!
Ten of the crew had the murder mark---
Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!
'Twas a cutlass swipe, or an ounce of lead,
Or a yawing hole in a battered head,
And the scuppers glut with a rotting red.
And there they lay, Aye, darn my eyes!
All lookouts clapped on Paradise---
All souls bound just contrawise---
Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!

Fifteen men of 'em good and true---
Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!
Every man jack could ha' sailed with Old Pew---
Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!
There was chest on chest full of Spanish gold,
With a ton of plate in the middle hold,
And the cabins riot of stuff untold.
And they lay there, that had took the plum,
With sightless glare and their eyes struck dumb,
While we share all by the Rule of Thumb---
Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!

More was seen through the stern light screen---
Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!
Chartings on doubt where a woman had been---
Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!
A flimsy shift on a bunker cot,
With a thin dirk slot through the bosom spot,
And the lace stiff-dry in a purplish blot.
Or was she wench, or some shuddering maid?
That dared the knife, and that took the blade!
By God! She was stuff for a plucky jade---
Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!

Fifteen men on the Dead Man's Chest---
Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!
Drink and the devil had done for the rest---
Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!
We wrapped 'em all in a mains'l tight,
With twice ten turns of a hawser's bight,
And we heaved 'em over and out of sight,
With a yo-heave-ho!, and a fare-you-well!
Ten fathoms deep on the road to heck!
Yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum!

[Suzanne]

Harp Song of the Dane Women - Rudyard Kipling

What is a woman that you forsake her,
And the hearth-fire and the home-acre,
To go with the old grey Widow-maker?

She has no house to lay a guest in---
But one chill bed for all to rest in,
That the pale suns and the stray bergs nest in.

She has no strong white arms to fold you,
But the ten-times-fingering weed to hold you---
Out on the rocks where the tide has rolled you.

Yet, when the signs of summer thicken,
And the ice breaks, and the birch-buds quicken,
Yearly you turn from our side, and sicken---

Sicken again for the shouts and the slaughters.
You steal away to the lapping waters,
And look at your ship in her winter-quarters.

You forget our mirth, and talk at the tables,
The kine in the shed and the horse in the stables---
To pitch her sides and go over her cables.

Then you drive out where the storm-clouds swallow,
And the sound of your oar-blades, falling hollow,
Is all we have left through the months to follow.

Ah, what is Woman that you forsake her,
And the hearth-fire and the home-acre,
To go with the old grey Widow-maker ?


The Sea & The Hills - Rudyard Kipling.

Who hath desired the Sea? -- the sight of salt water unbounded --
The heave and the halt and the hurl and the crash of the comber wind-hounded?
The sleek-barrelled swell before storm, grey, foamless, enormous, and growing --
Stark calm on the lap of the Line or the crazy-eyed hurricane blowing --
His Sea in no showing the same  his Sea and the same 'neath each showing:
           His Sea as she slackens or thrills?
So and no otherwise -- so and no otherwise -- hillmen desire their Hills!

Who hath desired the Sea? -- the immense and contemptuous surges?
The shudder, the stumble, the swerve, as the star-stabbing bow-sprit emerges?
The orderly clouds of the Trades, the ridged, roaring sapphire thereunder --
Unheralded cliff-haunting flaws and the headsail's low-volleying thunder --
His Sea in no wonder the same  his Sea and the same through each wonder:
          His Sea as she rages or stills?
So and no otherwise -- so and no otherwise -- hillmen desire their Hills.

Who hath desired the Sea? Her menaces swift as her mercies?
The in-rolling walls of the fog and the silver-winged breeze that disperses?
The unstable mined berg going South and the calvings and groans that declare it --
White water half-guessed overside and the moon breaking timely to bare it --
His Sea as his fathers have dared -- his Sea as his children shall dare it:
          His Sea as she serves him or kills?
So and no otherwise -- so and no otherwise -- hillmen desire their Hills.

Who hath desired the Sea? Her excellent loneliness rather
Than forecourts of kings, and her outermost pits than the streets where men gather
Inland, among dust, under trees -- inland where the slayer may slay him --
Inland, out of reach of her arms, and the bosom whereon he must lay him
His Sea from the first that betrayed -- at the last that shall never betray him:
          His Sea that his being fulfils?
So and no otherwise -- so and no otherwise -- hillmen desire their Hills



two of my favourites. Hope it's okay to add them here.

[Captain Smollett]

This was not really written as a sea poem, but I think it is certainly consistent with the SailFar spirit:

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

--Robert Frost

[Amgine]

For our shore-bound admirables: Robert Louis Stevenson

"The Stormy Evening Closes Now in..."
From Songs of Travel

The stormy evening closes now in vain,
Loud wails the wind and beats the driving rain,
While here in sheltered house
With fire-ypainted walls,
I hear the wind abroad,
I hark the calling squalls -
'Blow, blow,' I cry, 'you burst your cheeks in vain!
Blow, blow,' I cry, 'my love is home again!'

Yon ship you chase perchance but yesternight
Bore still the precious freight of my delight,
That here in sheltered house
With fire-ypainted walls,
Now hears the wind abroad,
Now harks the calling squalls.
'Blow, blow,' I cry, 'in vain you rouse the sea,
My rescued sailor shares the fire with me!'

[Captain Smollett]

Very cool...thanks for posting that.  Grog to you, sir!

Given my screen name, I hope it's clear that I am a RLS fan.   ;)

[Jim_ME]

Just heard this song...

with lyrics from this poem...

Companioned By the Sea
Marjorie Howell

My little house rides like a gull
High on the shore above the bay
By the slow passage of the tides
I measure out my day
There is much that life withholds
There is much that life denies
I am content, and most content
With seaward gazing eyes

My dreams sail with the tall white ships
Though I must ever bide at home
I share the blue of singing space
The bitter kiss of foam
The pageantry of storm and cloud
The mystery of the ebb and flow
The song of water as I sleep
All of these I know

No lesser joy can dim the spell
Of quietly enchanted hours
When the sea wore reflected stars
Upon her breast like flowers
Brine scented dawns, seafaring greens
How richly these have dowered me
That I should go through all my days
Companioned by the sea

[gpdno]

AFTER the Sea-Ship?after the whistling winds;
After the white-gray sails, taut to their spars and ropes,
Below, a myriad, myriad waves, hastening, lifting up their necks,
Tending in ceaseless flow toward the track of the ship:
Waves of the ocean, bubbling and gurgling, blithely prying,
Waves, undulating waves?liquid, uneven, emulous waves,
Toward that whirling current, laughing and buoyant, with curves,
Where the great Vessel, sailing and tacking, displaced the surface;
Larger and smaller waves, in the spread of the ocean, yearnfully flowing;
The wake of the Sea-Ship, after she passes?flashing and frolicsome, under the sun,
A motley procession, with many a fleck of foam, and many fragments,
Following the stately and rapid Ship?in the wake following..

Walt Whitman (1819?1892).