Who looks too long from his window
At the gray, wide, cold sea,
Where breakers scour the beaches
With fingers of sharp foam;
Who looks too long thro the gray pane
At the mad, wild, bold sea,
Shall sell his hearth to a stranger
And turn his back on home.
Who looks too long from his window—
Tho his wife waits by the fireside—
At a ship’s wings in the offing,
At a gull’s wings on air,
Shall latch his gate behind him,
Though his cattle call from the byre-side,
And kiss his wife—and leave her—
And wander everywhere.
Who looks too long in the twilight,
Or the dawn-light, or the noon-light,
Who sees an anchor lifted
And hungers past content,
Shall pack his chest for the world’s end,
For alien sun—or moonlight,
And follow the wind, sateless,
To disillusionment!
(Cale Young Rice)
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