I am the child of the wind and the sea,
The sport of the long, straight rain;
And the wild, wet breeze from the roaring south,
And the creaming tide in the harbor-mouth
Shall never call me in vain.
The East calls and the West calls,
From the skies that touch the plain;
And my feet are hot for the roads that take
The empurpled wastes where the rainbows break,
Where the foxes bark and the wild birds wake,
And the bracken browns on the hill.
Ho, ho, for the scud in the wintry morn;
Ho, ho, for the sleet and the clouds all torn!
Heigho, for the tempest's thrill!
The rain calls and the wind calls,
And my feet are never still!
For my fathers came from over the sea,
And their wandering blood runs red in me;
And as long as there's salt in the windy South,
And the fresh tides cream in the harbor-month,
As long as the sap sings sweet in the tree,
The wanderer's heart shall beat in me!
Deep in the womb of the blossoming earth
No grave could imprison me;
For I'd hear the drone of the sea-winds pass,
And I'd breathe the scent of the sun-warmed grass,
And Death should set me free.
O green day, O glad day.
I should wake to bird and tree;
And I'd steal where the waves broke clear and cold,
And shake out the dust from each white grave-fold,
And untie my hair on those sands of gold
Where the pig-face trailed to the deep!
And, oh, none should know that the dead ran wild
And danced with the bees on the cliffs gorse-tiled,
And danced on the windy steep!
The mad earth, the glad earth
Would never let me sleep!
For my fathers came from over the sea,
And their wandering blood runs red in me:
And as long as the ti-tree boughs are stripped,
And the magpie trolls in the eucalypt --
As long as the seagull calls from the sea,
The wanderer's heart will beat in me!
First published in The Bulletin, 9 February 1922
