Part 4 — THE MASTER MARINER
Reading edition
My grandshire sailed three years from home, And slew unmoved the sounding whale: Here on the windless beach I roam And watch far out the hardy sail.
The lions of the surf that cry Upon this lion-colored shore On reefs of midnight met his eye: He knew their fangs as I their roar.
My grandsire sailed uncharted seas, And toll of all their leagues he took: I scan the shallow bays at ease, And tell their colors in a book.
The anchor-chains his music made And wind in shrouds and running-gear: The thrush at dawn beguiles my glade, And once, 'tis said, I woke to hear.
My grandsire in his ample fist The long harpoon upheld to men: Behold obedient to my wrist A gray gull's-feather for my pen!
Upon my grandsire's leathern cheek Five zones their bitter bronze had set: Some day their hazards I will seek, I promise me at times. Not yet.
I think my grandsire now would turn A mild but speculative eye On me, my pen and its concern, Then gaze again to sea—and sigh.
George Sterling [1869-1926]