Since the printing press came into being, poetry has ceased to be the delight of the whole community of man; it has become the amusement and delight of the few. — John Masefield Copy Share Image
What am I, Life? A thing of watery salt Held in cohesion by unresting cells, Which work they know not why, which never halt,… — John Masefield Copy Share Image
Men in a ship are always looking up, and men ashore are usually looking down. — John Masefield Copy Share Image
I have seen dawn and sunset on moors and windy hills Coming in solemn beauty like slow old tunes of Spain. — John Masefield Copy Share Image
I must go down to the sea again For the call of the running tide It's a wild call and a clear call that… — John Masefield Copy Share Image
“(...) It,s hard not to be able. There, look there!/ I cannot get the movement nor the light;/Sometimes it almost makes a man despair/To… — John Masefield Copy Share Image
Quinquireme of Nineveh from distant Ophir, Rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine, With a cargo of ivory, And apes and peacocks, Sandalwood, cedarwood,… — John Masefield Copy Share Image
Only the road and the dawn, the sun, the wind, and the rain, And the watch fire under stars, and sleep, and the road… — John Masefield Copy Share Image
Life's battle is a conquest for the strong; The meaning shows in the defeated thing. — John Masefield Copy Share Image
Since the printing press came into being, poetry has ceased to be the delight of the whole community of man; it has become the… — John Masefield Copy Share Image
When the last sea is sailed and last shallow charted, When the last field is reaped and the last harvest stored, When the last… — John Masefield Copy Share Image
