by: Eugene O'Neill (1888-1953)
- EARY am
I of the tumult, sick of the staring crowd,
- Pining for wild sea places where the soul may think aloud.
- Fled is the glamour of cities, dead as the ghost of a dream,
- While I pine anew for the tint of blue on the breast of the
old Gulf Stream.
- I have had my dance with Folly, nor do I shirk the blame;
- I have sipped the so-called Wine of Life and paid the price
- But I know that I shall find surcease, the rest my spirit
- Where the rainbows play in the flying spray,
- 'Mid the keen salt kiss of the waves.
- Then it's ho! for the plunging deck of a bark, the hoarse
song of the crew,
- With never a thought of those we left or what we are going
- Nor heed the old ship's burning, but break the shackles of
- And at last be free, on the open sea, with the trade wind
in our hair.
POEMS BY EUGENE O'NEILL
"Free" is reprinted from
the Pleiades Club Year Book. New York: Pleiades Club,