Classic Poem

I

W E are far from sight of the harbour lights,
Of the sea-ports whence we came,
But the old sea calls and the cold wind bites,
And our hearts are turned to flame.

And merry and rich is the goodly gear
We'll win upon the tossing sea,
A silken gown for my dainty dear,
And a gold doubloon for me.

It 's the old old road and the old old quest
Of the cut-throat sons of Cain,
South by west and a quarter west,
And hey for the Spanish Main.

II

There 's a sea-way somewhere where all day long
Is the hushed susurrus of the sea,
The mewing of the skuas, and the sailor's song,
And the wind's cry calling me.

There 's a haven somewhere where the quiet of the bay
Is troubled with the shifting tide,
Where the gulls are flying, crying in the bright white spray,
And the tan-sailed schooners ride.

III

The toppling rollers at the harbour mouth
Are spattering the bows with foam,
And the anchor 's catted, and she 's heading for the south
With her topsails sheeted home.

And a merry measure is the dance she'll tread
(To the clanking of the staysail's hanks)
When the guns are growling and the blood runs red,
And the prisoners are walking of the planks.