Home is the sailor
Home Is the Sailor Home is the sailor, home from sea: Her farborne canvas furledThe ship pours shining on the quay The plunder of the world. Home is the hunter from the hill: Fast in the boundless snareAll flesh lies taken at his will And every fowl of air. 'Tis evening on the moorland free, The starlit wave is still:Home is the sailor from the sea, The hunter from the hill. A.E. Housman