It's a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds' cries;
I never hear the west wind but tears are in my eyes.
For it comes from the west lands, the old brown hills,
And April's in the west wind, and daffodils.
(The West Wind-John Masefield).
Red in the West.
A glow on the wood.
The teams plod home to rest.
The wild duck come to glean.
O souls not understood,
What a wild cry in the pool;
What things have the farm ducks seen
That they cry so--huddle and cry?
Only the soul that goes.
Eager. Eager. Flying.
Over the globe of the moon,
Over the wood that glows.
A rush and a wild crying.
A cry of the long pain
In the reeds of a steel lagoon,
In a land that no man knows.
(The Wild Duck-John Masefield).
What is this creature, Music, save the Art,
The Rhythm that the planets journey by?
The living Sun-Ray entering the heart,
Touching the Life with that which cannot die?
(Where does the Uttered Music Go?-John Masefield).
Just some photos from backpacking around the East Coast of Australia...and some of the wonderful poetry of John Edward Masefield, an English Poet and Writer: 01/06/1878-12/05/1967.