Come over the tide,


Come over the foam,


Dance on the hurricane, leap its waves,


Dream not of the calm sea-caves


5 Nor of content in them and home.


For that is the reason the hearts of men


Are ever weary—they would abide


Somewhere out of the spumy stride


Of the world’s spindrift—a want denied.


10 That is the reason: tho they know


That the restive years have no true home,


But only a Whence, Whither, and When—


Whence and Whither, for hearts to roam.


So who would tarry and rest the while,


15 Not dance as we, and sing on the wind,


Against the whole flow of the world has sinned,


And soon is weary and cannot smile.


Dance then, dance, on the fleeting spray!


None can gather eternity


20 Into his heart and bid it stay,