Sea Fever

I must admit that I do rather miss the sea. There's nothing like it in the world. I grew up walking on the beaches of Pembrokeshire, and at times, I feel a little like a hobbit away from the Shire (of Pembroke). I don't mean to put Kansas City into the same category as Mordor, or anything, but you know what I mean. Some things are very hard to live without.


Sea Fever by John Masefield

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel’s kick and wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a gray mist on the sea’s face, and a gray dawn breaking.

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 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.