A strong wind beats behind, the sail is full,

The ropes are taut, and as we plunge along

We do not talk, for what are words, when all about us

Is the sea, and gulls cry overhead, and water makes a song,

Those beat and rhythm is the wave

Up whose slope we climb and slip

Down the further green and foamy side,

And feel the heaving of the mighty tide

Of sea beneath us. Far away

The low white line of headland

Shows above the water, and we tack,

And come about. And all around, the day

Is warm, and far above, the sky

Arches down to meet the sea,

And over all is beauty, of a great

And mighty sort, and we

Go sailing, sailing, in our boat.