O might I leave this grassy place 
For spreading foam about my feet! 
The splendid spray upon my face, 
The flying brine itself were sweet 
If I might hear on Cromer beach 
The freedom of Old Neptune's speech! 

Ah, never language like to this 
For those whose ears can understand! 
Sometimes the coming of a kiss 
To mate the ocean with the strand; 
Sometimes the nameless oath is heard 
The sea-god thunders through his beard! 

I have a sea of blue on high, 
I have a sea of green beneath; 
For me sweet inland birds do cry 
Until with joy I hold my breath; 
But Ocean's harp of wave and stone 
Is bird and leaf and stream in one! 

Upon my dancing apple-sprays 
The blackbird whistles melodies; 
Half through a mellow run he stays 
And flashes to a neighbour's trees: 
He's rare, but rarer now would be 
The strident pebbles of the sea. 

And is it strange that round the shore 
The lyric water should rejoice? 
Ah no! for ever more and more 
The happy dead are in its voice. 
Majestic poet! might I be 
As full of song, as finely free!