I will go down to my sea again--to the waste of waters, wild and wide;
I am tired--so tired--of hill and plain and the dull tame face
of the country side.
I will go out across the bar, with a swoop like the flight of a
sea-bird's wings,
To where the winds and the waters are, with their multitudinous
thunderings.
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.