I have written this day in Marblehead
At a sea-captain’s desk in a well-furnished inn
On a nor’easter day of wettest gray
Around the corner from the sea
Where the waves boom high at Castle Rock
And the spume sprays heaven above my head.
If I had my choice of a summer’s day
With the bluest sky and the whitest clouds
Or this April day with the pounding waves
I’d choose this day when seasalt crystals
Cling to my sweater, my cap, and my beard
And the wind drives the rain into my eyes.
I thus have seen the sight I need
To know the sea and what it can do
When its mind is made up, and it has a mind
To be itself in its rough and tumble.