John Masefield

Out beyond the sunset could I but find the way,
Is a sleepy blue laguna which widens to a bay,
And there's the Blessed City &mdash so the sailors say
The Golden City of St

Laugh and be merry, remember, better the world with a song,
Better the world with a blow in the teeth of a wrong
Laugh, for the time is brief, a thread the length of a span
Laugh and be proud to belong to the old proud pageant of man

I Here in the self is all that man can know Of Beauty, all the wonder, all the power,
All the unearthly colour, all the glow,
Here in the self which withers like a flower;
Here in the self which fades as hours pass,

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 ...

Mother Carey
She's the mother o' the witches'N' all them sort o' rips;
She's a fine gell to look at, but the hitch is,
She's a sight too fond of ships;

On old Cold Crendon's windy tops Grows wintrily Blown Hilcote Copse,
Wind-bitten beech with badger barrows,
Where brocks eat wasp-grubs with their marrows,
And foxes lie on short-grassed turf,

I hold that when a person dies His soul returns again to earth;
Arrayed in some new flesh-disguise Another mother gives him birth
With sturdier limbs and brighter brain The old soul takes the road again
Such is my own belief and tru...