C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
The Sea
By Bryan Waller Procter (Barry Cornwall) (1787–1874)
T
The blue, the fresh, the ever free!
Without a mark, without a bound,
It runneth the earth’s wide regions round;
It plays with the clouds, it mocks the skies;
Or like a cradled creature lies.
I am where I would ever be;
With the blue above, and the blue below,
And silence wheresoe’er I go;
If a storm should come and awake the deep,
What matter? I shall ride and sleep.
On the fierce foaming bursting tide,
When every mad wave drowns the moon,
Or whistles aloft his tempest tune,
And tells how goeth the world below,
And why the southwest blasts do blow.
But I loved the great Sea more and more;
And backwards flew to her billowy breast,
Like a bird that seeketh its mother’s nest:
And a mother she was and is to me
For I was born on the open Sea!
In the noisy hour when I was born;
And the whale it whistled, the porpoise rolled,
And the dolphins bared their backs of gold;
And never was heard such an outcry wild
As welcomed to life the Ocean-child!
Full fifty summers a sailor’s life,
With wealth to spend and a power to range,—
But never have sought, nor sighed for change;
And death, whenever he come to me,
Shall come on the wide unbounded Sea!