OF THE DAY

John Masefield featured yesterday with his reflection on autumn ploughing. Here he turns to the sea, in one of the most iconic of English poems. Ironically, the future poet laureate had embarked on a career as a merchant seaman in his teens, but jumped ship in New York, through sea-sickness. Many anthologies interpose “go” between “must” and “down” in the first line of the verses, but this version seems authentic. “Trick,” in the last line, is a nautical term for a spell at the helm. The poem was given a stirring musical setting by John Ireland. SEA-FEVER 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. I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied; And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying, And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying. I must down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life, To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife; And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover, And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.