Taut sheet and filling sail,
And sweet wild wind that frolics fast,
As strains the canvas, strains the mast,
To piping breeze a-blowing past,
A-growing to a gale.

For'ard the breakers churn,
The whitecaps whip to lines of cream,
They beat and break along our beam,
And like the shadow of a dream
The shore drops down astern.
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