I must go down to the seas again,
for the call of the running tide
is a wild call and a clear call
that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day
with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the
blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again,
to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's
way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn
from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet
dream when the long trick's over.