SONG
O, fresh from off the ocean
The salt wind riots through
The fragrant fern and bay-leaves
And dripping honey-dew.
The morning’s on the moorland,
And flashing, far away,
I glimpse the foam-white seagulls
And feathers of the spray.
O hasten! let us hasten!
The tide sings up the sand
The song my heart has harkened
Across long leagues of land.
So far, far have I journeyed,
Such weary ways, O sea!
Breathe, breathe me breath of life now,
And steep the soul of me!