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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=510809" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>L'envoi</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">There's a whisper down the field where the year has shot her yield,<br> And the ricks stand gray to the sun,<br>Singing: -- &quot;Over then, come over, for the bee has quit the clover,<br> And your English summer's done.&quot;<br> You have heard the beat of the off-shore wind,<br> And the thresh of the deep-sea rain;<br> You have heard the song -- how long! how long?<br> Pull out on the trail again!<br> <br> Ha' done with the Tents of Shem, dear lass,<br> We've seen the seasons through,<br> And it's time to turn on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,<br> Pull out, pull out, on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.<br> <br>It's North you may run to the rime-ringed sun,<br> Or South to the blind Horn's hate;<br>Or East all the way into Mississippi Bay,<br> Or West to the Golden Gate;<br> Where the blindest bluffs hold good, dear lass,<br> And the wildest tales are true,<br> And the men bulk big on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,<br> And life runs large on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.<br> <br>The days are sick and cold, and the skies are gray and old,<br> And the twice-breathed airs blow damp;<br>And I'd sell my tired soul for the bucking beam-sea roll<br> Of a black Bilbao tramp;<br> With her load-line over her hatch, dear lass,<br> And a drunken Dago crew,<br> And her nose held down on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail<br> From Cadiz Bar on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.<br> <br>There be triple ways to take, of the eagle or the snake,<br> Or the way of a man with a maid;<br>But the fairest way to me is a ship's upon the sea<br> In the heel of the North-East Trade.<br> Can you hear the crash on her bows, dear lass,<br> And the drum of the racing screw,<br> As she ships it green on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,<br> As she lifts and 'scends on the Long Trail --<br> the trail that is always new?<br> <br>See the shaking funnels roar, with the Peter at the fore,<br> And the fenders grind and heave,<br>And the derricks clack and grate, as the tackle hooks the crate,<br> And the fall-rope whines through the sheave;<br> It's &quot;Gang-plank up and in,&quot; dear lass,<br> It's &quot;Hawsers warp her through!&quot;<br> And it's &quot;All clear aft&quot; on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,<br> We're backing down on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.<br> <br>O the mutter overside, when the port-fog holds us tied,<br> And the sirens hoot their dread!<br>When foot by foot we creep o'er the hueless viewless deep<br> To the sob of the questing lead!<br> It's down by the Lower Hope, dear lass,<br> With the Gunfleet Sands in view,<br> Till the Mouse swings green on the old trail,<br> our own trail, the out trail,<br> And the Gull Light lifts on the Long Trail --<br> the trail that is always new.<br> <br>O the blazing tropic night, when the wake's a welt of light<br> That holds the hot sky tame,<br>And the steady fore-foot snores through the planet-powdered floors<br> Where the scared whale flukes in flame!<br> Her plates are scarred by the sun, dear lass,<br> And her ropes are taut with the dew,<br> For we're booming down on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,<br> We're sagging south on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.<br> <br>Then home, get her home, where the drunken rollers comb,<br> And the shouting seas drive by,<br>And the engines stamp and ring, and the wet bows reel and swing,<br> And the Southern Cross rides high!<br> Yes, the old lost stars wheel back, dear lass,<br> That blaze in the velvet blue.<br> They're all old friends on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,<br> They're God's own guides on the Long Trail --<br> the trail that is always new.<br> <br>Fly forward, O my heart, from the Foreland to the Start --<br> We're steaming all-too slow,<br>And it's twenty thousand mile to our little lazy isle<br> Where the trumpet-orchids blow!<br> You have heard the call of the off-shore wind,<br> And the voice of the deep-sea rain;<br> You have heard the song -- how long! how long?<br> Pull out on the trail again!<br> <br> The Lord knows what we may find, dear lass,<br> And The Deuce knows what we may do --<br> But we're back once more on the old trail, our own trail, the out trail,<br> We're down, hull down on the Long Trail -- the trail that is always new.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Rudyard+Kipling">Rudyard Kipling</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=510809" data-title="L'envoi de Rudyard Kipling" data-description="There's a whisper down the field where the year has shot her yield,
 And the ricks stand gray to the sun,
Singing: -- &quot;Over then, come over, for the bee has quit the clover,
 And your English summer's done.&quot;
 You have heard the beat of t..."></div>
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