There´s no wind along these seas, <br />Out oars for Stavanger! <br />Forward all for Stavanger! <br />So we must wake the white-ash breeze. <br />Let fall for Stavanger! <br />A long pull for Stavanger! <br /> <br />Oh, hear the benches creak and strain! <br />(A long pull for Stavanger!) <br />She thinks she smells the Northland rain! <br />(A long pull for Stavanger !) <br /> <br />She thinks she smells the Northland snow, <br />And she's as glad as we to go. <br /> <br />She thinks she smells the Northland rime, <br />And the dear dark nights of winter-time. <br /> <br />She wants to be at her own home pier, <br />To shift her sails and standing gear. <br /> <br />She wants to be in her winter-shed, <br />To strip herself and go to bed. <br /> <br />Her very bolts are sick for shore, <br />And we—we want it ten times more! <br /> <br />So all you Gods that love brave men, <br />Send us a three-reef gale again! <br /> <br />Send us a gale, and watch us come, <br />With closecropped canvas slashing home! <br /> <br />But—there’s no wind on all these seas, <br />A long pull for Stavanger! <br />So we must wake the white-ash breeze, <br />A long pull for Stavanger!<br /><br />Rudyard Kipling<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/thorkild-s-song/
