Short Beach
Reading edition
Oh, the salt wind in my nostrils! And the white sail in the creek! And the blue beyond the marshes! And the flag at the peak! My soul lifts to the bugles Of a far cry on the breeze— The cry of my storm-kin calling Overseas, overseas! Blow, horns of the old sea-rapture! When your call comes from afar, I would rise from the grave to reach you Where the sea-dooms are.
Richard Hovey