Trade Winds

John Masefield

IN the harbor, in the island, in the Spanish Seas, 
Are the tiny white houses and the orange trees, 
And day-long, night-long, the cool and pleasant breeze 
Of the steady Trade Winds blowing. 

There is the red wine, the nutty Spanish ale, 
The shuffle of the dancers, the old salt's tale, 
The squeaking fiddle, and the soughing in the sail 
Of the steady Trade Winds blowing. 

And o' nights there's fire-flies and the yellow moon, 
And in the ghostly palm-trees the sleepy tune 
Of the quiet voice calling me, the long low croon 
Of the steady Trade Winds blowing.

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