The Sailing of the Fleets

Now the spring is in the town,

Now the wind is in the tree,

And the wintered keels go down

To the calling of the sea.

Out from mooring, dock, and slip,

Through the harbor buoys they glide,

Drawing seaward till they dip

To the swirling of the tide.

One by one and two by two,

Down the channel turns they go,

Steering for the open blue

Where the salty great airs blow;

Craft of many a build and trim,

Every stitch of sail unfurled,

Till they hang upon the rim

Of the azure ocean world.

Who has ever, man or boy,

Seen the sea all flecked with gold,

And not longed to go with joy

Forth upon adventures bold?

Who could bear to stay indoor,

Now the wind is in the street,

For the creaking of the oar

And the tugging of the sheet!

Now the spring is in the town,

Who would not a rover be,

When the wintered keels go down

To the calling of the sea?