And ,whilst the Muse is now upon us ,let favour her with abit of Masefield.......
A Wanderers Song
A winds in the heart of me ,a fire's in my heels,
I am tired of brick and stone and rumbling wagon wheels;
I hunger for the seas edge, the limit of the land,
Where the wild old Atlantic is shouting on the sand.
Oh I'll be going,leaving the noises of the street,
To where a lifting foresail -foot is yanking at the sheet;
To a windy,tossing anchorage where yawls and ketches ride,
Oh I'll be going ,going,until I meet the tide.
And first I'll hear the sea-wind, the mewing of the gulls,
The clucking ,sucking of the sea about the rusty hulls,
The songs at the capstan at the hooker warping out,
And then the heart of me'll know I'm there or thereabout.
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Oh I am sick of brick and stone,the heart of me is sick,
For windy green, unquiet sea,the realm of Moby Dick;
And I'll be going, going, from the roaring of the wheels,
For a wind's in the heart of me , a fire's in my heels.
John Masefield
Just reading that again brings back the sound of the wind in the halyards and the steady thrumming of the engine as we head into a Nor'wester on the way to New York. White horses ride the wave tops and the sea is cobalt beneath a blue denim sky. 8 bells are ringing and it'll soon be time for breakfast, oh brother ,take me home ,take me back to sea.!!
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