Not everyone can sail to Corinth.
Where great whales come sailing by, Sail and sail, with unshut eye, Round the world for ever and aye.
A wet sheet and a flowing sea, A wind that follows fast, And fills the white and rustling sail, And bends the gallant mast
An aged thrush, frail, gaunt and small, In blast-beruffled plume, Had chosen thus to fling his sail Upon the growing gloom. So little cause for carollings Of such ecstatic sound Was written on terrestrial things Afar or nigh around, That I could think there trembled through 382 His happy good-night air Some blessed Hope, whereof he knew And I was unaware.
My father worked with a horse-plough, His shoulders globed like a full sail strung Between the shafts and the furrow.
I must down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky, And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by, And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking, And a grey mist on the sea's face and a grey dawn breaking.
O the Harbour of Fowey Is a beautiful spot, And it's there I enjowey To sail in a yot; Or to race in a yacht Round a mark or a buoy Such a beautiful spacht Is the Harbour of Fuoy!
Webster's New World Dictionary of Quotations Copyright © 2010 by Chambers Harrap Publishers Ltd. All rights reserved. Published by Wiley, Hoboken, NJ. Used by arrangement with John Wiley & Sons, Inc.
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