If you live on an island, the sea may never be far away. No matter, give yourself a break and find the sea. Feel the soothing breeze or a battering gale. Hear the rhythmical lap or destructive crashing waves. Smell the sharp salt or the fusty ripe seaweed. Hear the screeching seagulls or the grunting cormorants. Feel the warm rays or the wet mist. Walk unsteadily on the smooth pebbles or be enveloped by endless fine sand.
I must go 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 go 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 go 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.