Page:Rudyard Kipling's verse - Inclusive Edition 1885-1918.djvu/751

 She thinks she smells the Northland rime, And the dear dark nights of winter-time.

She wants to be at her own home pier, To shift her sails and standing gear.

She wants to be in her winter-shed, To strip herself and go to bed.

Her very bolts are sick for shore, And we—we want it ten times more!

So all you Gods that love brave men, Send us a three-reef gale again!

Send us a gale, and watch us come, With close-cropped canvas slashing home!

But—there's no wind on all these seas, A long pull for Stavanger ! So we must wake the white-ash breeze, ''A long pull for Stavanger ! ''

UR gloves are stiff with the frozen blood, undefinedOur furs with the drifted snow, As we come in with the seal—the seal! undefinedIn from the edge of the floe.