A Valediction (Masefield)

We're bound for blue water where the great winds blow, It's time to get the tacks aboard, time for us to go; The crowd's at the capstan and the tune's in the shout, "A long pull, a strong pull, and warp the hooker out."

The bow-wash is eddying, spreading from the bows, Aloft and loose the topsails and some one give a rouse; A salt-Atlantic chanty shall be music to the dead, "A long pull, a strong pull, and the yard to the masthead."

Shrilly squeal the running sheaves, the weather-gear strains, Such a clatter of chain-sheets, the devil's in the chains; Over us the bright stars, under us the drowned, "A long pull, a strong pull, and we're outward bound."

Yonder, round and ruddy, is the mellow old moon, The red-funnelled tug has gone, and now, sonny, soon We'll be clear of the Channel, so watch how you steer, "Ease her when she pitches, and so-long, my dear."