Ballade of Aspiration
O to be somewhere by the sea,
Far from the city’s dust and shine,
From Mammon’s priests and from Mammon’s shrine,
From the stony street, and the grim decree
That over an inkstand crooks my spine,
From the books that are and the books to be,
And the need that makes of the sacred Nine
A school of harridans!—sweetheart mine,
O to be somewhere by the sea!
Under a desk I bend my knee,
Whether the morn be foul or fine.
I envy the tramp, in a ditch supine,
Or footing it over the sunlit lea.
But I struggle and write and make no sign,
For a labouring ox must earn his fee,
And even a journalist has to dine;
But O for a breath of the eglantine!
O to be somewhere by the sea!
Out on the links, where the wind blows free,
And the surges gush, and the rounding brine
Wanders and sparkles, an air like wine
Fills the senses with pride and glee.
In neighbour hedges are flowers to twine,
A white sail glimmers, the foamlines flee:
Life, love, and laziness are a trine
Worshipful, wonderful, dear, divine....
O to be somewhere by the sea!
Envoy.
Out and alas for the sweet Lang Syne,
When I was rich in a certain key—
The key of the fields; and I hadn’t to pine,
Or to sigh in vain at the sun’s decline,
O to be somewhere by the Sea!
W. E. Henley.