Walter de la Mare


From an island of the sea

Sounds a voice that summons me,—

"Turn thy prow, sailor, come

With the wind home!"

Sweet o'er the rainbow foam,

Sweet in the treetops, "Come,

Coral, cliff, and watery sand,

Sea-wave to land!

"Droop not thy lids at night,

Furl not thy sails from flight! . . ."

Cease, cease, above the wave,

Deep as the grave!

O, what voice of the salt sea

Calls me so insistently?

Echoes, echoes, night and day,—

"Come, come away!"