All a-waiting for to meet me there a-comin' in from sea,
When I'm through with this here ocean ... an' that'll never be!
"For I'd hear the parrots screamin' an' the palm-trees' drowsy tune,
But I'd want the Banks in winter an' the smell of ice in June,
An' the hard-case mates a-bawlin', an' the strikin' o' the bell ...
God! I've cursed it oft an' cruel ... but I'd miss it all like Hell.
"Yes, I'd miss the Western Ocean where the packets come an' go,
An' the grey gulls wheelin', callin', an' the grey sky hangin' low,
An' the blessed lights o' Liverpool a-winkin' through the rain
To welcome us poor packet-rats come back to port again.