Wednesday Poetry Corner

Come o'er the sea, 

Maiden with me, 

Mine through sunshine, storm, and snows; 

Seasons may roll, 

But the true soul 

Burns the same, where'er it goes. 

Let fate frown on, so we love and part not; 

'Tis life where thou art, 'tis death were thou are not. 

Then come o'er the sea, 

Maiden with me, 

Come wherever the wild wind blows; 

Seasons may roll, 

But the true soul 

Burns the same, where'er it goes. 

Was not the sea 

Made for the Free, 

Land for courts and chains alone? 

Here we are slaves, 

But, on the waves, 

Love and Liberty's all our own. 

No eye to watch, and no tongue to wound us 

All earth forgot, and all heaven around us -- 

Then come o'er the sea, 

Maiden, with me, 

Mine through sunshine, storms, and snows 

Seasons may roll, 

But the true soul 

Burns the same, where'er it goes.

Thomas Moore

Oh how I love the sea...the sounds, the sights, the smells, the feeling of the waves as they crash over me. The reason why I love the sea I cannot explain. I wasn't born near the sea, but I was born of the sea and feel such a strong connection to it. My roots, my origins, are rooted in the sea. My ancestors arrived in this country by sailing across  the sea, and I feel so close to them when I gaze out over the seemingly endless expanse of roaring waves.

I've not yet been able to visit her, but each morning she bids me welcome when the subway exits the tunnel and roars over the bridge.  Below she is always there, always so beautiful early in the morning.  Sometimes it is too foggy to see her, but we know that she is there. Other mornings she sparkles with the rays of the early morning sun. The subway I used to take from my old home went under the water, and all that was visible was a dark dank tunnel.  There's a special feeling to looking out the window and being able to look way into the horizon, and see nothing but the ocean for as far as the eye can see.  She brings peace and healing to my soul.

There is symbolic as well as actual beauty in the migration of the birds,
the ebb and flow of the tides, the folded bud ready for the spring.
There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature—
the assurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after the winter.

Rachel Carson