A gray day, and the gulls are gone.
Visor of mist o'er the sun is drawn.
The cordage creaks and the sails all strain,
The deck is drenched with the rushing rain,
The waves leap strong at the struggling keel,
And the ship rides madly with plunge and reel.
But the sailors shout as they haul away,
And merrily sing, for it's naught care they
For the wind that screams on the lee,
Or a gray day out at sea.
