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John Masefield - Dauber
Work rating: Low

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The green seas on the deck went washing by, 
Flooding the half-deck; bitter hard it blew. 
But little of it all the Dauber knew- 
The sopping bunks, the floating chests, the wet, 
The darkness, and the misery, and the sweat. 

He was off duty. So it blew all night, 
And when the watches changed the men would come 
Dripping within the door to strike a light 
And stare upon the Dauber lying dumb, 
And say, "He come a cruel thump, poor chum." 
Or, "He`d a-been a fine big man;" or, "He. . . 
A smart young seaman he was getting to be." 

Or, "Damn it all, it`s what we`ve all to face! 
I knew another fellow one time . . ." then 
Came a strange tale of death in a strange place 
Out on the sea, in ships, with wandering men. 
In many ways Death puts us into pen. 
The reefers came down tired and looked and slept. 
Below the skylight little dribbles crept 

Along the painted woodwork, glistening, slow, 
Following the roll and dripping, never fast, 
But dripping on the quiet form below, 
Like passing time talking to time long past. 
And all night long "Ai, ai!" went the wind`s blast, 
And creaming water swished below the pale, 
Unheeding body stretched beneath the sail. 

At dawn they sewed him up, and at eight bells 
They bore him to the gangway, wading keep, 
Through the green-clutching, white-toothed water-hells 
That flung his carriers over in their sweep. 
They laid an old red ensign on the heap, 
And all hands stood bare-headed, stooping, swaying, 
Washed by the sea while the old man was praying 

Out of a borrowed prayer-book. At a sign 
They twitched the ensign back and tipped the grating 
A creamier bubbling broke the bubbling brine. 
The muffled figure tilted to the weighting; 
It dwindled slowly down, slowly gyrating. 
Some craned to see; it dimmed, it disappeared; 
The last green milky bubble blinked and cleared. 

Mister, shake out your reefs," the Captain called. 
"Out topsail reefs!" the Mate cried; then all hands 
Hurried, the great sails shook, and all hands hauled, 
Singing that desolate song of lonely lands, 
Of how a lover came in dripping bands, 
Green with the wet and cold, to tell his lover 
That Death was in the sea, and all was over. 

Fair came the falling wind; a seaman said 
The Dauber was a Jonah; once again 
The clipper held her course, showing red lead, 
Shattering the sea-tops into golden rain. 
The waves bowed down before her like blown grain; 
Onwards she thundered, on; her voyage was short, 
Before the tier`s bells rang her into port. 

Cheerly they rang her in, those beating bells, 
The new-come beauty stately from the sea, 
Whitening the blue heave of the drowsy swells, 
Treading the bubbles down. With three times three 
They cheered her moving beauty in, and she 
Came to her berth so noble, so superb, 
Swayed like a queen, and answered to the curb. 

Then in the sunset`s flush they went aloft, 
And unbent sails in that most lovely hour, 
When the light gentles and the wind is soft, 
And beauty in the heart breaks like a flower. 
Working aloft they saw the mountain tower, 
Snow to the peak; they heard the launch-men shout; 
And bright along the bay the lights came out. 

And then the night fell dark, and all night long 
The pointed mountain pointed at the stars, 
Frozen, alert, austere; the eagle`s song 
Screamed from her desolate screes and splintered scars. 
On her intense crags where the air is sparse 
The stars looked down; their many golden eyes 
Watched her and burned, burned out, and came to rise. 

Silent the finger of the summit stood, 
Icy in pure, thin air, glittering with snows. 
Then the sun`s coming turned the peak to blood, 
And in the rest-house the muleteers arose. 
And all day long, where only the eagle goes, 
Stones, loosened by the sun, fall; the stones falling 
Fill empty gorge on gorge with echoes calling.
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