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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.

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
Truth
Sea
Tolls
May
Build
Sail
Soul
Youth
Ship
Men
Courage
Ships
Takes
Breath
Beauty
Breaths
Hours
Burning
Death
Hour
Toll

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In this life he laughs longest who laughs last.
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Commonplace people dislike tragedy because they dare not suffer and cannot exult.
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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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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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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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The luck will alter and the star will rise.
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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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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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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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Death opens unknown doors. It is most grand to die.
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It ought to have gangsters, and aeroplanes and a lot of automatic pistols.
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I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky and all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by.
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Oh some are fond of Spanish wine, and some are fond of French.
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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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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 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.
John Masefield
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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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Life's battle is a conquest for the strong The meaning shows in the defeated thing.
John Masefield
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So death obscures your gentle form, So memory strives to make the darkness bright And, in that heap of rocks, your body lies, Part of the island till the planet ends, My gentle comrade, beautiful and wise, Part of this crag this bitter surge offends, While I, who pass, a little obscure thing, War with this force, and breathe, and am its king.
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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.
John Masefield