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 crispèd 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,