Treasure Island

John Masefield

(1 June 1878 – 12 May 1967 / Herefordshire / England)

Quotations

  • '''When freezing aloft in a snorter, I tell you I wish—
    (Though maybe it ain't like a Christian)MI wish I could be
    A haughty old copper-bound albatross dipping for fish
    And coming the proud over all o' the birds o' the sea.'''
    John Masefield (1878-1967), British poet. Sea Change (l. 13-16). . . Oxford Book of Modern Verse, The, 1892-1935. William Butler Yeats, ed. (1936) Oxford University Press.
    68 person liked.
    26 person did not like.
  • ''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.''
    John Masefield (1874-1967), British poet, playwright. "Sea Fever," st. 2, Salt-Water Ballads (1902). The line appears as "I must go down to the seas again ... " in some collections, and in John Ireland's musical setting of the poem; though apparently not in Masefield's drafts, nor in the first published version.
  • ''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,''
    John Masefield (1878-1967), British poet. Sea Fever (l. 1-2). . . Modern American & British Poetry. Louis Untermeyer, ed., in consultation with Karl Shapiro and Richard Wilbur. (Rev., shorter ed., 1955) Harcourt, Brace and Company.
  • ''Out of the earth to rest or range
    Perpetual in perpetual change,
    The unknown passing through the strange.''
    John Masefield (1878-1967), British poet. The Passing Strange (l. 1-3). . . Oxford Book of English Verse, The, 1250-1918. Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. (New ed., rev. and enl., 1939) Oxford University Press.
  • ''Since moons decay and suns decline,
    How else should end this life of mine?''
    John Masefield (1878-1967), British poet. The Passing Strange (l. 46-47). . . Oxford Book of English Verse, The, 1250-1918. Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. (New ed., rev. and enl., 1939) Oxford University Press.
  • ''They change, and we, who pass like foam,
    Like dust blown through the streets of Rome,
    Change ever, too; we have no home,''
    John Masefield (1878-1967), British poet. The Passing Strange (l. 61-63). . . Oxford Book of English Verse, The, 1250-1918. Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. (New ed., rev. and enl., 1939) Oxford University Press.
  • ''But gathering as we stray, a sense
    Of Life, so lovely and intense,
    It lingers when we wander hence,

    That those who follow feel behind
    Their backs, when all before is blind,
    Our joy, a rampart to the mind.''
    John Masefield (1878-1967), British poet. The Passing Strange (l. 67-72). . . Oxford Book of English Verse, The, 1250-1918. Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. (New ed., rev. and enl., 1939) Oxford University Press.
  • ''Commonplace people dislike tragedy because they dare not suffer and cannot exult.''
    John Masefield (1874-1967), British poet, playwright. The Tragedy of Nan, preface (1908).
  • ''It's a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds' cries;
    I never hear the west wind but tears are in my eyes.''
    John Masefield (1878-1967), British poet. The West Wind (l. 1-2). . . Modern American & British Poetry. Louis Untermeyer, ed., in consultation with Karl Shapiro and Richard Wilbur. (Rev., shorter ed., 1955) Harcourt, Brace and Company.
  • ''It's a fine land, the west land, for hearts as tired as mine,
    Apple orchards blossom there, and the air's like wine.''
    John Masefield (1878-1967), British poet. The West Wind (l. 5-6). . . Modern American & British Poetry. Louis Untermeyer, ed., in consultation with Karl Shapiro and Richard Wilbur. (Rev., shorter ed., 1955) Harcourt, Brace and Company.

Read more quotations »

Tewkesbury Road

IT is good to be out on the road, and going one knows not where,
Going through meadow and village, one knows not whither or why;
Through the grey light drift of the dust, in the keen cool rush of the air,
Under the flying white clouds, and the broad blue lift of the sky.

And to halt at the chattering brook, in a tall green fern at the brink
Where the harebell grows, and the gorse, and the foxgloves purple and white;
Where the shifty-eyed delicate deer troop down to the brook to dri

[Hata Bildir]