Silent are the woods, and the dim green boughs are
Hushed in the twilight: yonder, in the path through
The apple orchard, is a tired plough-boy
.Calling the cows home
,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 grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking
,Quinquireme of Nineveh from distant Ophir
,Rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine
,With a cargo of ivory
,And apes and peacocks
.Sandalwood, cedarwood, and sweet white wine
