Rhymes of Old Plimouth

by Herbert Randall

SALT O’ THE SEA.

I love the sea, as I’ve often said,

An’ I mean it, too, from my boots to my head;

I love the joggle, the lurch an’ swell,

I love the taste o’ the salt, an’ the smell;

I love the cap’n what’s brown an’ tanned,

An’ I love to roll in the yaller sand,

An’ soak my soul in the heavin’ blue,

An’ I love to rock in a boat, don’t you?

Yes, I love the pranks o’ the handsum sea,

An’ the handsum things what it sez to me;

An’ I love its flash at the peep o’ day,

When the sails is fillin’ an’ goin’ away;

An’ I allers sez to myself, sez I,

As they nose an’ dip in the mornin’ sky,

“How I’d love to go!” An’ I would, ’tis true,

For I love to sail in a boat, don’t you?

I love the slide o’ the slantin’ deck,

An’ the old blue shirt folded in at the neck;

I love the slip o’ the greasy coat,

An’ the feel o’ the brine on my face an’ throat,

An’ the things I hears, an’ the things I see,

When the skipper is drivin’ his helm hard-a-lee,

Wall—I love the tune, an’ I love the view,

But I don’t guess much it’s consarnin’ you.

But the best of all is the smell I get,

When the tides is out an’ the flats is wet;

An’ I love to think when the tides come in

Of the things they’s seen, in the place they’s been;

An’ there ain’t no end o’ the things I’d do

Ef I owned a boat, an’ I owned a crew,

An’ an ile-skin coat, ’n’ a sweater, too,

For I love the salt o’ the sea, don’t you?