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Most roads lead men homewards, My road leads me forth

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
Forth
Leads
Road
Lead
Journey
Men
Roads

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Oh some are fond of Spanish wine, and some are fond of French.
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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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In this life he laughs longest who laughs last.
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Death opens unknown doors. It is most grand to die.
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I have seen flowers come in stony places And kind things done by men with ugly faces, And the gold cup won by the worst horse at the races, So I trust, too.
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Man's body is faulty, his mind untrustworthy, but his imagination has made him remarkable.
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When the last sea is sailed and last shallow charted, When the last field is reaped and the last harvest stored, When the last fire is out and the last guest departed Grant the last prayer that I pray, Be good to me, O Lord.
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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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The distant soul can shake the distant friend's soul and make the longing felt, over untold miles.
John Masefield
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And may we find when ended is the page, Death but a tavern on our pilgrimage.
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Life's battle is a conquest for the strong The meaning shows in the defeated thing.
John Masefield
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God dropped a spark down into everyone, And if we find and fan it to a blaze, It'll spring up and glow, like--like the sun, And light the wandering out of stony ways.
John Masefield
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Life, a beauty chased by tragic laughter.
John Masefield
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The days that make us happy make us wise
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In the dark room where I began My mother's life made me a man. Through all the months of human birth Her beauty fed my common earth. I cannot see, nor breathe, nor stir, But through the death of some of her.
John Masefield
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I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life, To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow rover, And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.
John Masefield
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The corn that makes the holy bread By which the soul of man is fed, The holy bread, the food unpriced, Thy everlasting mercy, Christ.
John Masefield
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To most of us the future seems unsure. But then it always has been and we who have seen great changes must have great hopes.
John Masefield
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Poetry is a mixture of common sense, which not all have, with an uncommon sense, which very few have.
John Masefield
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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.
John Masefield