WATER FRONT STREETS

The spring is not so beautiful there,— But dream ships sail away To where the spring is wondrous rare And life is gay. The spring is not so beautiful there,— But lads put out to sea Who carry beauties in their hearts And dreams, like me.

With gypsies and sailors, Wanderers of the hills and seas, I go to seek my fortune. With pious folk and fair I must have a parting. But you will not miss me,— You who live between the hills And have never seen the seas.

The sea is a wilderness of waves, A desert of water. We dip and dive, Rise and roll, Hide and are hidden On the sea. Day, night, Night, day, The sea is a desert of waves, A wilderness of water.

Hello, sailor boy, In from the sea! Hello, sailor, Come with me! Come on drink cognac. Rather have wine? Come here, I love you. Come and be mine. Lights, sailor boy, Warm, white lights. Solid land, kid. Wild, white nights. Come on, sailor, Out o’ the sea. Let’s go, sweetie! Come with me.

How still, How strangely still The water is today. It is not good For water To be so still that way.

God having a hemorrhage, Blood coughed across the sky, Staining the dark sea red, That is sunset in the Caribbean.

He carries His own strength And his own laughter, His own today And his own hereafter,— This strong young sailor Of the wide seas. What is money for? To spend, he says. And wine? To drink. And women? To love. And today? For joy. And tomorrow? For joy. And the green sea For strength, And the brown land For laughter. And nothing hereafter.

Off the coast of Ireland As our ship passed by We saw a line of fishing ships Etched against the sky. Off the coast of England As we rode the foam We saw an Indian merchantman Coming home.

Natcha, offering love. For ten shillings offering love. Offering: A night with me, honey. A long, sweet night with me. Come, drink palm wine. Come, drink kisses. A long, dream night with me.

Sea charm The sea’s own children Do not understand. They know But that the sea is strong Like God’s hand. They know But that sea wind is sweet Like God’s breath, And that the sea holds A wide, deep death.

We buried him high on a windy hill, But his soul went out to sea. I know, for I heard, when all was still, His sea-soul say to me: Put no tombstone at my head, For here I do not make my bed. Strew no flowers on my grave, I’ve gone back to the wind and wave. Do not, do not weep for me, For I am happy with my sea.