Brisk weather, blowing half a gale,
Rigid and straining, wind on sail,
Water on centreboard, forces meet,
Braced to the pull of tiller and sheet,
Stretched to the limit of strength and weight,
Leaning and heaving, we keep her straight.
She shoots ahead like a thing alive,
A creature of elemental drive,
The curling wave and the stinging spray
Spreading behind as she leaps away,
Pent and restrained, but bursting free,
Arrow of wind on a foaming sea.

Lee-oh! We're about for the starboard tack.
The mains'l shakes and the sheets go slack.
The boom swings round. Then she takes the strain,
And we're beating away close-hauled again.

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