THE SEA-WIND

By Norah Mary Holland

I am weary of this country, with its hedges and its walls,

And all night I do be dreaming how the water calls and calls;

Of the booming of the breakers as they dash against the shore,

And the salt wind, the sea-wind, the wind I'll hear no more.

I am weary of these meadows, where the sun comes scorching down

Till the ways are dry and dusty, and the grass is burnt and brown;

And forever through my dreaming come the great waves’ lash and leap,

And the salt wind, the sea-wind, the wind upon the deep.

Should I die here in this country, and its stifling turf be pressed

Hot and heavy o'er my bosom, O‘ tis never I could rest;

Let me lie beneath the washing of the green and silent wave,

With the salt wind, the sea-wind, to sing above my grave.