Days of endeavour have been good: the days Racing in cutters for the comrade’s praise, The day they led my cutter at the turn Yet could not keep the lead and dropped astern. The moment in the spurt when both boats, oars Dipped in each other’s wash and throats grew hoarse And teeth ground into teeth and both strokes quickened Lashing the sea, and gasps came, and hearts sickened And coxwains damned us, dancing, banking stroke, To put our weights on, though our hearts were broke And both boats seemed to stick and sea seemed glue, The tide a mill-race we were struggling through And every quick recover gave us squints Of them still there and oar-tossed water-glints, And cheering came, our friends, our foemen cheering, A long, wild, rallying murmur on the hearing “Port Fore!” and “Starboard Fore!” “Port Fore!” “Port Fore!” “Up with her, Starboard,” and at that each oar Lightened, though arms were bursting, and eyes shut And the oak stretchers grunted in the strut, And the curse quickened from the cox, our bows Crashed, and drove talking water, we made vows, Chastity vows and temperance; in our pain We numbered things we’d never eat again If we could only win; then came the yell “Starboard,” “Port Fore,” and then a beaten bell Rung as for fire to cheer us. “Now.” Oars bent Soul took the looms now body’s bolt was spent, “Give way, come on now!” “On now!” “On now!” “Starboard.” “Port Fore!” “Up with her, Port!” each cutter harboured Ten eye-shut painsick strugglers, “Heave, oh, heave!” Catcalls waked echoes like a shrieking sheave. “Heave!” and I saw a back, then two. “Port Fore.” “Starboard!” “Come on!” I saw the midship oar And knew we had done them. “Port Fore!” “Starboard!” “Now!” I saw bright water spurting at their bow Their cox’ full face an instant. They were done. The watchers’ cheering almost drowned the gun. We had hardly strength to toss our oars; our cry Cheering the losing cutter was a sigh.