With its hush and its rush and swirl;
With its bugling quest to the sloping west,
And its flurry and drift and whirl;
With its shifting race and the salt in my face,
With its spill and its gusty rhyme,
With its mermaids fair, with the dusk in their hair,
And its drench and its mystic chime.
O the rolling sea is the place for me,
With the kittiwakes swaying by,
On their lyric wings where the breaker swings,