Storm at Sea
Blow, blow! The winds are so hoarse they cannot blow.
Cold, cold! Our tears freeze to hail, our spittle to snow.
—The waves are all up, they swell as they run:
Let them rise and rise
As high as the skies,
—And higher to wash the face of the sun.
Port, port! The pilot is blind! Port at the helm!
Yare, yare! For one foot of shore take a whole realm.
—A-lee, or we sink! Does no man know how to wind her?
Less noise, and more room!
We sail in a drum,
—Our sails are but rags, which lightning turns to tinder.
Aloof, aloof! Hey, how those carracks and ships
Fall foul and are tumbled and driven like chips!
—Our boatsen, alas, a silly weak gristle,
For fear to catch cold
Lies down in the hold,
—We all hear his sighs, but few hear his whistle.
Blow, blow! The winds are so hoarse they cannot blow.
Cold, cold! Our tears freeze to hail, our spittle to snow.
—The waves are all up, they swell as they run:
Let them rise and rise
As high as the skies,
—And higher to wash the face of the sun.
Port, port! The pilot is blind! Port at the helm!
Yare, yare! For one foot of shore take a whole realm.
—A-lee, or we sink! Does no man know how to wind her?
Less noise, and more room!
We sail in a drum,
—Our sails are but rags, which lightning turns to tinder.
Aloof, aloof! Hey, how those carracks and ships
Fall foul and are tumbled and driven like chips!
—Our boatsen, alas, a silly weak gristle,
For fear to catch cold
Lies down in the hold,
—We all hear his sighs, but few hear his whistle.
Cold, cold! Our tears freeze to hail, our spittle to snow.
—The waves are all up, they swell as they run:
Let them rise and rise
As high as the skies,
—And higher to wash the face of the sun.
Port, port! The pilot is blind! Port at the helm!
Yare, yare! For one foot of shore take a whole realm.
—A-lee, or we sink! Does no man know how to wind her?
Less noise, and more room!
We sail in a drum,
—Our sails are but rags, which lightning turns to tinder.
Aloof, aloof! Hey, how those carracks and ships
Fall foul and are tumbled and driven like chips!
—Our boatsen, alas, a silly weak gristle,
For fear to catch cold
Lies down in the hold,
—We all hear his sighs, but few hear his whistle.
Blow, blow! The winds are so hoarse they cannot blow.
Cold, cold! Our tears freeze to hail, our spittle to snow.
—The waves are all up, they swell as they run:
Let them rise and rise
As high as the skies,
—And higher to wash the face of the sun.
Port, port! The pilot is blind! Port at the helm!
Yare, yare! For one foot of shore take a whole realm.
—A-lee, or we sink! Does no man know how to wind her?
Less noise, and more room!
We sail in a drum,
—Our sails are but rags, which lightning turns to tinder.
Aloof, aloof! Hey, how those carracks and ships
Fall foul and are tumbled and driven like chips!
—Our boatsen, alas, a silly weak gristle,
For fear to catch cold
Lies down in the hold,
—We all hear his sighs, but few hear his whistle.
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