I must go down to the seas again for the lonely sea and the sky, and all I ask is a tall ship

and a star to steer her by, and the wheels kick, and the winds hum, and the white sails

I must go down to the seas again for a call of the running tide, it is a wild call and a clear call

that may not be denied, and all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,

and the flung spray, and the blown spume, and the seagulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again to the vagrant gypsy life, to the gulls' way and the whales' way,

where the wind's like a whetted knife, and all I ask is a merry yawn from a laughing fellow rower,