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| A grey mist on the sea's face... |
By John Masefield
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 gray mist on the sea's face, and a gray 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 quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.
(via)
One or other phrase from this poem came to me during the walk along the estuary last week, so it seemed a good idea to revisit the poem (first encountered in Grade 3 - Miss Olson was my teacher - or perhaps in Grade 4, thanks to Mr Pearson, who also read us The Castle of Adventure on Friday afternoons, chapter by cliff-hanging chapter.
Masefield (1878-1967) seems to have appeared often in the poetry anthologies used in British Columbia schools in the 1950s, but has probably fallen right out of favour now.
Masefield lost both parents early and was brought up by an aunt, who thought little of his addiction to reading. Unhappy at school, he spent several years at sea on the HMS Conway and found he had lots of time to read and write there. He jumped ship in New York in 1895 and that year read a poem in a magazine that turned him on to poetry. Until his return to England two years later he worked long hours in a carpet factory but bought, and presumably read, about 20 books a week.
He was successful as a poet and novelist and later in life (1930) he became Poet Laureate.
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