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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.

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
Nations
Radiant
Gone
Spirits
Spirit
Somewhere
Ever
Memory
Among
Nation
Memories
Venturing
Morning
Veneration

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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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In this life he laughs longest who laughs last.
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All I ask is a tall ship and a star to sail her by.
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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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Death opens unknown doors. It is most grand to die.
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Life's battle is a conquest for the strong The meaning shows in the defeated thing.
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It ought to have gangsters, and aeroplanes and a lot of automatic pistols.
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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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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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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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The luck will alter and the star will rise.
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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.
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Off Cape Horn there are but two kinds of weather, neither one of them a pleasant kind.
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The Lord who gave us Earth and Heaven Takes that as thanks for all He's given. The book he lent is given back All blotted red and smutted black.
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Most roads lead men homewards, My road leads me forth
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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.
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His face was filled with broken commandments.
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Commonplace people dislike tragedy because they dare not suffer and cannot exult.
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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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Since the printing press came into being, poetry has ceased to be the delight of the whole community of man it has become the amusement and delight of the few.
John Masefield