Sea Fever

"Sea-Fever"

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 (1878-1967).
(English Poet Laureate, 1930-1967.)

I like this poem. I grew up on the shores of Connecticut, and have always lived within a few miles drive of the sea. It is part of my home, and I can't imagine living somewhere without an ocean nearby. It digs itself inside of you, crawling inside of your veins and urging you to be emerged in the water. The crashing of waves calls you back to the primordial womb, bringing out the most basic and instinctual of desires. When on it, wind ripping through your hair, you are more alive than you have ever been before, aware of every feeling and sensation and movement. When in it, it is almost like flying.

Maybe only people who spend a lot of time near the water can relate -- those from coastal towns or who make their living on the sea. But given enough time, it becomes an inherent part of you.

I must go down to the seas again.