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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.

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
Distant
Sandalwood
Wine
Peacock
Havens
Cargo
Haven
Rowing
Sweet
Ivory
White
Apes
Home
Palestine
Sunny
Peacocks

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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.
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God warms his hands at man's heart when he prays.
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Each one could be a Jesus mild, Each one has been a little child, A little child with laughing look, A lovely white unwritten book A book that God will take, my friend, As each goes out at journey's end.
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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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Love is a flame to burn out human wills, Love is a flame to set the will on fire, Love is a flame to cheat men into mire.
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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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The luck will alter and the star will rise.
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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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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.
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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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Death opens unknown doors. It is most grand to die.
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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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And may we find when ended is the page, Death but a tavern on our pilgrimage.
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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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The three foundations of judgement: Bold Design, Constant Practice, and Frequent Mistakes.
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In this life he laughs longest who laughs last.
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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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The days that make us happy make us wise
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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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