Explore "Sea Longing" by Sara Teasdale on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
A THOUSAND miles beyond this sun-steeped wall / Somewhere the waves creep cool along the sand, / The ebbing tide forsakes the listless land / With the old murmur, long and musical; / The windy waves mount up and curve and fall, / And round the rocks the foam blows up like snow, -- / Tho' I am inland far, I hear and know, / For I was born the sea's eternal thrall.
I would that I were there and over me / The cold insistence of the tide would roll, / Quenching this burning thing men call the soul, -- / Then with the ebbing I should drift and be / Less than the smallest shell along the shoal, / Less than the sea-gulls calling to the sea.