I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.
 
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
 
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.

JOHN MASEFIELD (1878-1967)

My nan and mum, following an old family tradition of never knowing more than the first line or two of any poem, could recite only the beginning of any poem – this was one such poem that they both knew.

My nan in particular was always ready to sit in the front seat of a car and stare at the waves. She preferred cloudy days by the water; she said that they were moodier.

I guess my mum recited the same two lines at me because that’s what her mum used to do.

James Kirk quotes the second line (all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by) in Star Trek V (IMHO the worst of the six original cast movies). But I understand his sense of longing for the unknown.

Now, whenever I am near the sea, those same two lines echo in my mind. I am pulled towards the sea. I prefer sunny days, but a cloudy day with a lot of big rollers clamouring against the rocks I love also.

When I’m near the sea I feel that sense of the timeless and infinite. I am but a mote in space, insignificant and unimportant, which actually feels like a relief.

And I feel a sense of peace and connection.