Monday, January 17, 2011

Sea Longing

by Sara Teasdale

A THOUSAND miles beyond this sun-steeped wall
Somewhere the waves creep cool along the sand,
The ebbing tide forsakes the listless land
With the old murmur, long and musical;
The windy waves mount up and curve and fall,
And round the rocks the foam blows up like snow,--
Tho' I am inland far, I hear and know,
For I was born the sea's eternal thrall.
I would that I were there and over me
The cold insistence of the tide would roll,
Quenching this burning thing men call the soul,--
Then with the ebbing I should drift and be
Less than the smallest shell along the shoal,
Less than the sea-gulls calling to the sea.


...oh yeah. Happy FBIHD!

2 comments:

  1. cutee! in my current knitting frenzy, I may try that :-)

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  2. oh my goooooosh I love her. Him? ay yi yi, babies can be so gender misleading.

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