The sea is calling to us in a blithesome voice and free, 
     
    

    
     There’s keenest rapture on its breast and boundless 
     
     liberty! 
     
    

    
     Each man is master of his craft, its gleaming sails out- 
     
     blown, 
     
    

    
     And far behind him on the shore a home he calls his 
     
     own. 
     
    
   
   
    
     Salt is the breath of ocean slopes and fresher blows 
     
     the breeze, 
     
    

    
     And swifter still each bounding keel cuts through the 
     
     combing seas, 
     
    

    
     Athwart our masts the shadows of the dipping sea- 
     
     gulls float, 
     
    

    
     And all the water-world’s alive when the fishing boats 
     
     go out. 
     
    
   
   
    
     35