O, sing me a song of the wild west wind,
And his great sea-harrying flail,
Of hardy mariners, copper skinned,
That fly with a bursting sail.
They see the clouds of crisped white
That shadow the distant hills,
And filled are they with a strange delight
As shaking away old ills.
O, give me a boat that is sure and stark,
And swift as a slinger's stone,
With a sail of canvas bronzed dark,
And I will go out alone:
Nor fear nor sorrow my soul shall keep
When around me lies the sea,
And I will return with the night, and sleep
In the wind's wild harmony.