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.
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