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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.
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
Littles
Journey
Look
Laughing
Little
Friend
Book
Goes
Looks
Child
Unwritten
Take
Jesus
Mild
Children
White
Lovely
Ends
Childhood
More quotes by John Masefield
Most roads lead men homewards, My road leads me forth
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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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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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Death opens unknown doors. It is most grand to die.
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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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Life's battle is a conquest for the strong The meaning shows in the defeated thing.
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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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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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The luck will alter and the star will rise.
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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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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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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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It ought to have gangsters, and aeroplanes and a lot of automatic pistols.
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The days that make us happy make us wise
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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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God warms his hands at man's heart when he prays.
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All I ask is a tall ship and a star to sail her by.
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His face was filled with broken commandments.
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Life, a beauty chased by tragic laughter.
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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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