My prows shall furrow the whitening sea, out into the teeth of the
lashing wind,
Where a thousand billows snarl and flee and break in a smother of
foam behind.
O strong and terrible Mother Sea, let me lie once more on your cool
white breast,
Your winds have blown through the heart of me and called me back from
the land's dull rest.
For night by night they blow through my sleep; the voice of waves
through my slumber rings;
I feel the spell of the steadfast deep; I hear its tramplings and
triumphings.
And at last, when my hours of life are sped, let them make me no
grave by hill or plain—
Thy waves, O Mother, shall guard my head. I will go down to my sea
again.
THE SEA-WIND
I am weary of this country, with its hedges and its walls,
And all night I do be dreaming how the water calls and calls;
Of the booming of the breakers as they dash against the shore,
And the salt wind, the sea-wind, the wind I'll hear no more.
I am weary of these meadows, where the sun comes scorching down
Till the ways are dry and dusty, and the grass is burnt and brown;
And forever through my dreaming come the great waves' lash and leap,
And the salt wind, the sea-wind, the wind upon the deep.
Should I die here in this country, and its stifling turf be pressed
Hot and heavy o'er my bosom, O 'tis never I could rest;
Let me lie beneath the washing of the green and silent wave,
With the salt wind, the sea-wind, to sing above my grave.