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 whitted knife,
and all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
and quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.
John Masefield (1913)
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