By moons and stars I have measured my task-
And some from the skies have perished:
But ever I cut and flashed and foamed,
As ever my aim I cherished:

My aim to quarry the heart of earth,

Till, in rock's red rise,

Its age and birth, through an awful girth
Of strata, should show the wonder-worth
Of patience to all eyes.

My brother, man, builds as he can,
And beauty he adds for his joy,
But all the hues of sublimity

My pinnacled walls employ.

Slow shadows iris them all day long,
And silvery ceils, soul-stilling,
The moon drops down their precipices,
Soft with a spectral thrilling.
For all immutable dreams that sway
With beauty the earth and air,
Are ever at play, by night and day,
My house of eternity to array
In visions ever fair.

Reprinted by permission of Cale Young Rice and The Century Co., the publishers of Mr. Rice's works, among which are "Sea Poems," "Shadowy Thresholds," "Songs to A. H. R.," "Wraiths and Realities," "Earth and New Earth," and "Trails Sunward."

Sea Fever

John Masefield

John Masefield was born in Shropshire, England, in 1874. He ran away from home at the age of 14 and joined the navy. The influence of his life at sea is marked in many of his writings. He has written a number of dramas and novels as well as a great deal of poetry.

This "call of the running tide" requires the use of the imagination and a sympathetic response to the spirit of the poem. Generally speaking, the semicolon marks the division of distinct thoughtunits in each stanza. The somewhat abrupt close of each stanza will be helped in the oral expression by pausing before the last word.

I MUST go 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 gray mist on the sea's face, and a gray dawn breaking.

I must go 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 go 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.

Reprinted by permission of, and by special arrangement with, The Macmillan Company. Copyrighted by The Macmillan Company.

The Sea Gypsy

Richard Hovey

Richard Hovey was born at Normal, Illinois, May 4, 1864. He was on the stage for a number of years and has written many poems and dramas. He died Feb. 26, 1900.

This exquisite lyric should be delivered with fervor. Reveal the sense clearly, but do not neglect the musical rhythm.

I AM fevered with the sunset,

I am fretful with the bay,
For the wander-thirst is on me
And my soul is in Cathay.

There's a schooner in the offing,
With her topsails shot with fire,
And my heart has gone aboard her
For the Islands of Desire.

I must forth again to-morrow!
With the sunset I must be,

Hull down on the trail of rapture

In the wonder of the sea.

Reprinted by permission of, and by special arrangement with, Small, Maynard Co.

Neptune's Steeds

William Lawrence Chittenden

William Lawrence Chittenden was born at Montclair, N. J., March 23, 1862. He began life as reporter for a New York newspaper, but later went to Texas and engaged in the cattle business in which he has been very successful. He has contributed verse and other matter to various periodicals under the pen-name of "Larry Chittenden." He is the author of "Ranch Verses," 1893, now in the fifteenth edition (Putnams-publishers), "Bermuda Verses," 1909, "Lafferty's Letters," etc. The following verses from his book, "Ranch Verses," evaluated by Dr. Lyman Abbott as the best of the author's poems, were written at his summer home, "Christmas Cove," on the coast of Maine.

Have you ever watched from the seashore during a storm the white-crested waves-"the wild white steeds of Neptune❞—as with tumultuous on-rush and resistless power they approached the shore? This is the picture you must see and depict as you read this poem.

HARK to the wild nor'easter!

That long, long booming roar,

When the Storm King breathes his thunder
Along the shuddering shore.

The shivering air re-echoes

The ocean's weird refrain,

For the wild white steeds of Neptune

Are coming home again.

No hand nor voice can check them,

These stern steeds of the sea,

They were not born for bondage,
They are forever free.

With arched crests proudly waving,

Too strong for human rein,
The wild white steeds of Neptune

Are coming home again.

With rolling emerald chariots

They charge the stalwart strand,

They gallop o'er the ledges

And leap along the land;

With deep chests breathing thunder

Across the quivering plain,

The wild white steeds of Neptune
Are coming home again.

Not with the trill of bugles,
But roar of muffled drums

And shrouded sea-weed banners,

That mighty army comes.
The harbor bars are moaning

A wail of death and pain,

For the wild white steeds of Neptune
Are coming home again.

Well may the sailor women
Look out to scan the lee,

And long for absent lovers,

Their lovers on the sea.

Well may the harbored seamen

Neglect the sails and seine,

When the wild white steeds of Neptune

Are coming home again.

How sad their mournful neighing,

That wailing, haunting sound;
It is the song of sorrow,
A dirge for dead men drowned.
Though we must all go seaward,