"How many mariners had made that choice Paused on the brink of mystery! ‘Choose now!’ The winds roared, blowing home, blowing home, Over the Coral Sea. ‘Choose now!’ the trades Cried once to Tasman, throwing him for choice Their teeth or shoulders, and the Dutchman chose The wind’s way, turning north. ‘Choose, Bougainville!’ The wind cried once, and Bougainville had heard The voice of God, calling him prudently Out of the dead lee shore, and chose the north, The wind’s way. So, too, Cook made choice, Over the brink, into the devil’s mouth, With four months’ food, and sailors wild with dreams Of English beer, the smoking barns of home. So Cook made choice, so Cook sailed westabout, So men write poems in Australia."