Classic Poem

I LIST its sound in the night,
The surge song of the sea;
I mark it, a welter of white
Or gray with the driven rain;
I watch it broad and bright,
A sapphire harmony, —
But the hills call and the rills call, so it's
ho, for the hills again!

The ships go wavering by,
And fade on the faint sea rim;
Graceful the white gulls fly,
Their cry like a far refrain;
The low wind comes like a sigh
From the outer islands dim, —
But the hills call and the rills call, so it's
ho, for the hills again!

I turn my back on the foam,
On the long curved line of shore,
On the dunes and the reedy loam
And the murmur of the main;
Oh, the hill man seeks his home
As the sailor the ocean's roar!
Hark! the hills call and the rills call, so it's
ho, for the hills again!