The poem
Oh how I love the laughing sea, Sun lances splintering; Or with a virile harmony In salty caves to sing; Or mumbling pebbles on the shore, Or roused to monster might: By day I love the sea, but more I love it in the night.
High over ocean hangs my home And when the moon is clear I stare and stare till fairy foam Is music in my ear; Till glamour dances to a tune No mortal man could make; And there bewitched beneath the moon To beauty I awake.
Then though I seek my bed again And close the shutters tight, Still, still I hear that wild refrain And see that mystic light . . . Oh reckon me a crazy loon, But blesséd I will be If my last seeing be the moon, My last sound--the Sea.
This poem captures the sea's magic and "spell" nicely. It's the sounds and image that Service focuses on, not how people invade its' shores, or how birds weave about it. No, just the sea's lure is laid bare. I relate to this poem's image of the night. My favorite time to sit at a beach is at night: the solitude it affords, the brillance of the stars, the blackberry sky, the glow of the moon, the hum of the constant waves...