Most roads lead men homewards, My road leads me forth
All I ask is a tall ship and a star to sail her by.
I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky; and all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by.
It's a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds' cries.
I must go down to the sea again For the call of the running tide It's a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied.
Poetry is a mixture of common sense, which not all have, with an uncommon sense, which very few have.