Distil the sea down to its essence
Drain each bitter draft, more wrack than rye
Savour the spume’s salt-white tumescence
Sing sad shanties to make mermaids cry
Billow sail, I will not see pillows
Before brine and sun blanch my beard
Neither lay my bones by the willows
Nor lose sight of stars by which I steered
My way to you, my land-locked beauty
Marooned in manors untouched by tide
By blood, by birth, by dint of duty
Barque; brave trade winds, bear me to my bride
