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The distant soul can shake the distant friend's soul and make the longing felt, over untold miles.

John Masefield

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John Masefield
Age: 88 †
Born: 1878
Born: June 1
Died: 1967
Died: May 12
Journalist
Novelist
Poet
Writer
County of Herefordshire
John Edward Masefield
Shakes
Longing
Miles
Friend
Felt
Soul
Untold
Make
Shake
Distant

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Quinquireme of Nineveh from distant Ophir, Rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine, With a cargo of ivory, And apes and peacocks, Sandalwood, cedarwood, and sweet white wine.
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The luck will alter and the star will rise.
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The days that make us happy make us wise
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All the great things of life are swiftly done, Creation, death, and love the double gate. However much we dawdle in the sun We have to hurry at the touch of Fate.
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The three foundations of judgement: Bold Design, Constant Practice, and Frequent Mistakes.
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When Life knocks at the door no one can wait, When Death makes his arrest we have to go.
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Man cannot call the brimming instant back Time's an affair of instants spun to days If man must make an instant gold, or black, Let him, he may but Time must go his ways. Life may be duller for an instant's blaze. Life's an affair of instants spun to years, Instants are only cause of all these tears.
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It ought to have gangsters, and aeroplanes and a lot of automatic pistols.
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Man with his burning soul Has but an hour of breath To build a ship of Truth In which his soul may sail- Sail on the sea of death. For death takes toll Of beauty, courage, youth, Of all but Truth.
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Life's battle is a conquest for the strong The meaning shows in the defeated thing.
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All I ask is a tall ship and a star to sail her by.
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Poetry is a mixture of common sense, which not all have, with an uncommon sense, which very few have.
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Commonplace people dislike tragedy because they dare not suffer and cannot exult.
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State are not made, nor patched they grow Grow slow through centuries of pain, And grow correctly in the main But only grow by certain laws, Of certain bits in certain jaws.
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In this life he laughs longest who laughs last.
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On the long dusty ribbon of the long city street, The pageant of life is passing me on multitudinous feet, With a word here of the hills, and a song there of the sea And-the great movement changes-the pageant passes me.
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There are few earthly things more beautiful than a university a place where those who hate ignorance may strive to know, where those who perceive truth may strive to make others see.
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From '41 to '51I was my folk's contrary sonI bit my father's hand right throughAnd broke my mother's heart in two.
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And may we find when ended is the page, Death but a tavern on our pilgrimage.
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I have seen dawn and sunset on moors and windy hills Coming in solemn beauty like slow old tunes of Spain.
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