O, sing me a Song of the Wild West Wind

By Geoffrey Bache-Smith

O, sing me a song of the wild west wind,
    And his great sea-harrying flail,
Of hardy mariners, copper skinned,
    That fly with a bursting sail.
They see the clouds of crispèd white
    That shadow the distant hills,
And filled are they with a strange delight
    As shaking away old ills.

O, give me a boat that is sure and stark,
    And swift as a slinger’s stone,
With a sail of canvas bronzèd dark,
    And I will go out alone:
Nor fear nor sorrow my soul shall keep
    When around me lies the sea,
And I will return with the night, and sleep
    In the wind’s wild harmony.

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