I love the sea, as I’ve often said, An’ I mean it, too, from my boots to my head; I love the joggle, the lurch an’ swell, I love the taste o’ the salt, an’ the smell; I love the cap’n what’s brown an’ tanned, An’ I love to roll in the yaller sand, An’ soak my soul in the heavin’ blue, An’ I love to rock in a boat, don’t you? Yes, I love the pranks o’ the handsum sea, An’ the handsum things what it sez to me; An’ I love its flash at the peep o’ day, When the sails is fillin’ an’ goin’ away; An’ I allers sez to myself, sez I, As they nose an’ dip in the mornin’ sky, “How I’d love to go!” An’ I would, ’tis true, For I love to sail in a boat, don’t you? I love the slide o’ the slantin’ deck, An’ the old blue shirt folded in at the neck; I love the slip o’ the greasy coat, An’ the feel o’ the brine on my face an’ throat, An’ the things I hears, an’ the things I see, When the skipper is drivin’ his helm hard-a-lee, Wall--I love the tune, an’ I love the view, But I don’t guess much it’s consarnin’ you. But the best of all is the smell I get, When the tides is out an’ the flats is wet; An’ I love to think when the tides come in Of the things they’s seen, in the place they’s been; An’ there ain’t no end o’ the things I’d do Ef I owned a boat, an’ I owned a crew, An’ an ile-skin coat, ’n’ a sweater, too, For I love the salt o’ the sea, don’t you? MID-OCEAN. The wholeness of Almighty God lies fathoms deep, and stretches either side; Colossal splendor rolls whichever way I look, And never terminates, Extols the secret power of Life. Our keel divides the waters in a silver streak, Our prow, a golden sword, goes plunging toward the dawn, I gaze in wonderment and awe, Confused by unknown tongues, and towering sounds, I long to clasp the world in one embrace. On board the “Kronprinz Wilhelm,” Sept. 1, 1911. EASTERLY WEATHER. OFF MANOMET POINT. The winds had whiffled for a week, The tides ran high with choppy seas, The buoys that marked the channel rocked, The mortar-guns slept on their knees, In readiness to leap when called; The coast-patrol saw boding sign; Men climbed the cliffs to scan the deep, And spliced an extra breeches-line. And then the weather settled down, The green of every wave took flight, And one great hollow voice made moan, And rumbled, rumbled day and night, In dull unbroken monotone, The breakers running breast to breast, Like hounds of Death, with frothy jaws, From north to south, from east to west. The low horizon rocked and swayed To mazy motion of the spume, Till ’yond the fog it crawled away And hid behind a leaden gloom. Oblivion swept through the night, And coiled the dark through every place; The old tarpaulins dripped with salt, And flapped it in the eyes and face.