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.

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.

The days that make us happy make us wise

All I ask is a tall ship and a star to sail her by.

Life, a beauty chased by tragic laughter.

My road leads me seawards To the white dipping sails.

God warms his hands at man's heart when he prays.