Today the sun came out, the mountains stood tall and bright against a blue sky. A chill still hangs in the air, a vivid reminder of winter. The harbor is skinned over with a thin sheet of ice, but spring is coming. Tonight it will snow, then say the mystical weathermen, another sunny day. TWO in a single week. We are in heaven. The sea is calling and I must go. Soon I croon to the Siren. Yet she still sings!
I must 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 the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.
I must 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 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.
By John Masefield
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