The song of sailors every one When monstrous tide and tempest run At ships like bulls at red, When stately ships are twirled and spun Like whipping tops and help there's none And mighty ships ten thousand ton Go down like lumps of lead-- And song of fighters stern as they At odds with fortune night and day, Crammed up in cities grim and grey As thick as bees in hives, Hosannas of a lowly throng Who sing unconscious of their song, Whose lips are in their lives-- And song of some at holy war With spells and ghouls more dread by far Than deadly seas and cities are, Or hordes of quarrelling kings--- The song of fighters great and small, The song of pretty fighters all, And high heroic things-- The song of lovers--who knows how Twitched up from place and time Upon a sigh, a blush, a vow, A curve or hue of cheek or brow, Borne up and off from here and now Into the void sublime! And crying loves and passions still In every key from soft to shrill And numbers never done, Dog-loyalties to faith and friend, And loves like Ruth's of old no end, And intermission none-- And burst on burst for beauty and For numbers not behind, From men whose love of motherland Is like a dog's for one dear hand, Sole, selfless, boundless, blind-- And song of some with hearts beside For men and sorrows far and wide, Who watch the world with pity and pride And warm to all mankind-- And endless joyous music rise From children at their play, And endless soaring lullabies From happy, happy mothers' eyes, And answering crows and baby cries, How many who shall say! And many a song as wondrous well With pangs and sweets intolerable From lonely hearths too gray to tell, God knows how utter gray! And song from many a house of care When pain has forced a footing there And there's a Darkness on the stair Will not be turned away-- And song--that song whose singers come With old kind tales of pity from The Great Compassion's lips, That makes the bells of Heaven to peal Round pillows frosty with the feel Of Death's cold finger tips-- The song of men all sorts and kinds, As many tempers, moods and minds As leaves are on a tree, As many faiths and castes and creeds, As many human bloods and breeds As in the world may be; The song of each and all who gaze On Beauty in her naked blaze, Or see her dimly in a haze, Or get her light in fitful rays And tiniest needles even, The song of all not wholly dark, Not wholly sunk in stupor stark Too deep for groping Heaven-- And alleluias sweet and clear And wild with beauty men mishear, From choirs of song as near and dear To Paradise as they, The everlasting pipe and flute Of wind and sea and bird and brute, And lips deaf men imagine mute In wood and stone and clay;