Carl Sandburg (1878–1967). Chicago Poems. 1916.
110. Young Sea
T
It pounds on the shore
Restless as a young heart,
Hunting.
And only the stormy hearts
Know what it says:
It is the face
of a rough mother speaking.
One storm cleans all the hoar
And loosens the age of it.
I hear it laughing, reckless.
Men who ride on it
And know they will die
Under the salt of it
Says the sea.
And hear me.
I am the last word
And I tell
Where storms and stars come from.