My road leads me seawards To the white dipping sails.

Poetry is a mixture of common sense, which not all have, with an uncommon sense, which very few have.

Commonplace people dislike tragedy because they dare not suffer and cannot exult.

And may we find when ended is the page, Death but a tavern on our pilgrimage.

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.

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.

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