  What are the heaths and hills to me? I'm a-longing for the sea! What are the flowers that dapple the dell, And the ripple of swallow-wings over the dusk; What are the church and the folk who tell Their hearts to God?—my heart is a husk! (I'm a-longing for the sea!) Aye! for there is no peace to me— But on the peaceless sea! Never a child was glad at my knee, And the soul of a woman has never been mine. What can a woman's kisses be?— I fear to think how her arms would twine, (I'm a-longing for the sea!) So, not a home and ease for me— But still the homeless sea! Where I may swing my sorrow to sleep In a hammock hung o'er the voice of the waves, And hurl their hate—and a brave ship saves. (I'm a-longing for the sea!) Then when I die, a grave for me— But in the graveless sea! Where is no stone for an eye to spell Thro' the lichen a name, a date and a verse. Let me be laid in the deeps that swell And sigh and wander—an ocean hearse! (I'm a-longing for the sea!) |
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