Quote

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.

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
Word
Street
Ribbon
Song
Sea
Dusty
Great
Changes
Pageant
Long
City
Ribbons
Life
Streets
Passes
Movement
Passings
Cities
Hills
Feet
Passing
Multitudinous

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Death opens unknown doors. It is most grand to die.
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The luck will alter and the star will rise.
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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, a beauty chased by tragic laughter.
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O lovely lily clean, O lily springing green, O lily bursting white, Dear lily of delight, Spring in my heart agen That I may flower to men.
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The social states of human kinds Are made by multitudes of minds, And after multitudes of years A little human growth appears Worth having, even to the soul Who sees most plain it's not the whole.
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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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But he has gone, A nation's memory and veneration, Among the radiant, ever venturing on, Somewhere, with morning, as such spirits will.
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The distant soul can shake the distant friend's soul and make the longing felt, over untold miles.
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God warms his hands at man's heart when he prays.
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Man's body is faulty, his mind untrustworthy, but his imagination has made him remarkable.
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It ought to have gangsters, and aeroplanes and a lot of automatic pistols.
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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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Commonplace people dislike tragedy because they dare not suffer and cannot exult.
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All I ask is a tall ship and a star to sail her by.
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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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I hold that when a person dies / His soul returns again to earth / Arrayed in some new flesh disguise / Another mother gives him birth / With sturdier limbs and brighter brain.
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I must go down to the sea again For the call of the running tide It's a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied.
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Only the road and the dawn, the sun, the wind, and the rain, And the watch fire under stars, and sleep, and the road again.
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It's a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds' cries I never hear the west wind but tears are in my eyes. For it comes from the west lands, the old brown hills, And April's in the West wind, and daffodils.
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