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Rudyard Kipling (1865–1936). Verse: 1885–1918. 1922.

The Sea-wife

THERE dwells a wife by the Northern Gate,

And a wealthy wife is she;

She breeds a breed o’ rovin’ men

And casts them over sea.

And some are drowned in deep water,

And some in sight o’ shore,

And word goes back to the weary wife

And ever she sends more.

For since that wife had gate or gear,

Or hearth or garth or field,

She willed her sons to the white harvest,

And that is a bitter yield.

She wills her sons to the wet ploughing,

To ride the horse of tree;

And syne her sons come back again

Far-spent from out the sea.

The good wife’s sons come home again

With little into their hands,

But the lore of men that have dealt with men

In the new and naked lands;

But the faith of men that have brothered men

By more than easy breath,

And the eyes o’ men that have read with men

In the open books of Death.

Rich are they, rich in wonders seen,

But poor in the goods o’ men;

So what they have got by the skin of their teeth

They sell for their teeth again.

And whether they lose to the naked life

Or win to their hearts’ desire,

They tell it all to the weary wife

That nods beside the fire.

Her hearth is wide to every wind

That makes the white ash spin;

And tide and tide and ’tween the tides

Her sons go out and in;

(Out with great mirth that do desire

Hazard of trackless ways—

In with content to wait their watch

And warm before the blaze);

And some return by failing light,

And some in waking dream,

For she hears the heels of the dripping ghosts

That ride the rough roof-beam.

Home, they come home from all the ports,

The living and the dead;

The good wife’s sons come home again

For her blessing on their head!