The Sea-Gull Poem by Silas Weir Mitchell

I
THE woods are full of merry minstrelsy;
Glad are the hedges with the notes of spring;
But o'er the sad and uncompanioned sea
No love-born voices ring.
II
Gray mariner of every ocean clime,
If I could wander on as sure a wing,
Or beat with yellow web thy pathless sea,
I too might cease to sing.
III
Would I could share thy silver-flashing swoop,
Thy steady poise above the bounding deep,
Or buoyant float with thine instinctive trust,
Rocked in a dreamless sleep.
IV
Thine is the heritage of simple things,
The untasked liberty of sea and air,
Some tender yearning for the peopled nest,
Thy only freight of care.
V
Thou hast no forecast of the morrow's need,
No bitter memory of yesterdays;
Nor stirs thy thought that airy sea o'erhead,
Nor ocean's soundless ways.
VI
Thou silent raider of the abounding sea,
Intent and resolute, ah, who may guess
What primal notes of gladness thou hast lost
In this vast loneliness!
VII
Where bides thy mate? On some lorn ocean rock
Seaward she watches. Hark! the one shrill cry,
Strident and harsh, across the wave shall be
Her welcome—thy reply.
VIII
When first thy sires, with joy-discovered flight,
High on exultant pinions sped afar,
Had they no cry of gladness or of love,
No bugle note of war?
IX
What gallant song their happy treasury held,
Such as the pleasant woodland folk employ,
The lone sea thunder quelled. Thou hast one note
For love, for hate, for joy.
X
Yet who that hears this stormy ocean voice
Would not, like them, at last be hushed and stilled,
Were all his days through endless ages past
With this stern music filled?
XI
What matters it? Ah! not alone are loved
Leaf-cloistered poets who can love in song.
Home to the wild-eyed! Home! She will not miss
The music lost so long.
XII
Home! for the night wind signals, 'Get thee home'
Home, hardy admiral of the rolling deep;
Home from the foray! Home! That silenced song
Love's endless echoes keep.