Where do you come from, sea,
To the sharp Cornish shore,
Leaping up to the raven’s crag?
From Labrador.
Do you grow tired sea?
Are you weary ever
When the storms burst over your head?
Never.
Are you hard as a diamond, sea,
As iron, as oak?
Are you stronger than flint or steel?
And the lightning stroke.
Ten thousand years and more, sea,
You have gobbled your fill,
Swallowing stone and slate!
I am hungry still.
When will you rest, sea?
When moon and sun
Ride only fields of salt water
And the land is gone.
© Charles Causley, Collected Poems 1951-2000. Macmillan, 2000. Reprinted by permission.