Far up the lonely strand the storm had lifted her.And now along her keel the merry tides make stirNo more.The running waves that sparkled at her prow Seethe to the chains and sing no more with laughter now.No more the clean seafurrow follows her.No moreTo the hum of her gallant tackle the hale Nor‘westersroar.
No more her bulwarks journey.For the only boon they craveIs the guerdon of all good ships and true，the boon of a deepsea grave.
Take me out，sink me deep in the green profound，To sway with the long weed，swing with the drowned Where the change of the soft tide makes no sound Far below the keels of the outward bound.
No more she mounts the circles from Fundy to the Horn，From Cuba to the Cape runs down the tropic morn，Explores the Vast Uncharted where great bergs ride in ranks，Nor shouts a broad “Ahoy”to the dories on the Banks.No more she races freights to Zanzibar and back，Nor creeps where the fog lies blind along the liner’s track，No more she shares the cyclone‘s disastrous core of calm To greet across the dropping wave the amber isles of palm.
Take me out，sink me deep in the green profound，To sway with the long weed，swing with the drowned，Where the change of the soft tide makes no sound，Far below the keels of the outward bound.
Amid her trafficking peers，the windwise，journeyed ships，At the black wharves no more，nor at the weedy slips，She comes to port with cargo from many a storied clime.
No more to the roughthroat chantey her windlass creaks in time.
No more she loads for London with spices from Ceylon，With white spruce deals and wheat and apples from St.
John.
No more from Pernambuco with cottonbales，no more With hides from Buenos Ayres she clears for Baltimore.
Take me out，sink me deep in the green profound，To sway with the long weed，swing with the drowned，Where the change of the soft tide makes no sound，Far below the keels of the outward bound.
Wan with the slow vicissitudes of wind and rain and sun How grieves her deck for the sailors whose hearty brawlsare done！
Only the wandering gull brings word of the open wave，With shrill scream at her taffrail deriding her alien grave.
Around the keel that raced the dolphin and the shark Only the sandwren twitters from barren dawn till dark；And all the long blank noon the blank sand chafes andmarsThe prow once swift to follow the lure of the dancing stars.
Take me out，sink me deep in the green profound，To sway with the long weed，swing with the drowned，Where the change of the soft tide makes no sound，Far below the keels of the outward bound.
And when the winds are low，and when the tides are still，And the round moon rises inland over the naked hill，And o’er her parching seams the dry cloudshadows pass，And dry along the landrim lie the shadows of thin grass，Then aches her soul with longing to launch and sink away Where the fine silts lift and settle and seathings driftand stray，To make the port of Last Desire，and slumber with her peersIn the tidewash rocking softly through the unnumbered years.
Take me out，sink me deep in the green profound，To sway with the long weed，swing with the drowned，Where the change of the soft tide makes no sound，Far below the keels of the outward bound.
