There isn't any use in building a house
Away from the will of the sea;
In wedding a wife and planting the loam
And getting a child for the years to come.
There isn't any use, for trouble begins
Away from the turn of the tides,
Away from the wandering wash of a bow
And the wind's voice oversides.

There isn't any use, for women and ships
Were ever foes, not friends;
And the man who has given his heart to a mast
In vain will grapple a woman fast.
He will learn that his mistress still is a ship,
Which never thwarts his will,
That no wife's eyes hold the alien skies
And seas that lure him still.

There isn't any use, for the end will be
Bitterness and regret,
Till he holds a helm in his hand again
And loses sight of the land again,
And feels come heaving back to his heart
The one thing that the sea
And no home else can bring to him,
A safe simplicity.