Outward Bound

I will go down to the calling sea, 
Take ship for the Fortunate Isles, and sail 
To lowlands dim where the poplars pale 
Sigh long, sigh low for Persephone, 
Where long she waits on the yellow strand 
Demeter's voice and Demeter's hand. 

I will go down to the calling sea, 
Take ship for the Fortunate Isles, and find 
The golden West, where the sirens bind 
Their hair with garlands of briony, 
Where time's forgot and no head grows gray, 
And a wind blows merrily night and day. 

I will go down to the calling sea, 
Take ship for the Fortunate Isles, and follow 
The wayward gull and the wind-blown swallow 
Wherever the will of the wind may be: 
And sweet sea-voices I'll surely hear 
Though the Fortunate Isles come never near. 

I will go down to the calling sea, 
Though never a pilot may with me go: 
With all sails set though I surely know 
That wreck is waiting my ship and me — 
And death the light at my mast-head shown, 
For water and wind I have made my own.