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!