Literary Littoral Poetry of the Wa ter's Edge But look! here come more crowds, pacing straight for the water, and seemingly bound for a dive. Strange! Nothing will content them but the extremest limit of the land; loitering under the shady lee of yonder warehouses will not suffice. No. They must get just as nigh the water as they possibly can without falling. And there they stand- miles of them-leagues. Inlanders all, they come from lanes and alleys, streets and avenues-north, east, south, and west. Yet here they all unite. Tell me, does the magnetic virtue of the needles of the compasses of all those ships attract them thither? (excerpt from Chapter 1, "Loomings," Moby-Dick, by Herman Melville)
The littoral zone-where the land meets the sea- has long attracted landsmen, whose seaward gaze is one of awe, wonder, fantasy, and longing. Poets across the ages have found inspiration at the water's edge, seeking answers from what lies beyond the horizon or in the acknowledgment of the ephemerality of life symbolized by the waves that wash away what they see in front of them in the littoral. - Deirdre O'Regan
Neither Out Far Nor In Deep by Robert Frost
The people along the sand All turn and look one way. They turn their back on the land. They look at the sea all day. As long as it takes to pass A ship keeps raising its hull; The wetter ground like glass Reflects a standing gull. The land may vary more; But wherever the truth may beThe water comes ashore, And the people look to the sea. They cannot look out far. They cannot look in deep. But when was that ever a bar To any watch they keep?
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Break Break Break by Alfred, Lord Tennyson
Break, break, break, On thy cold gray stones, 0 Sea! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me. 0, well for the fisherman's boy, That he shouts with his sister at play! 0, well for the sailor lad, That he sings in his boat on the bay! And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill; But 0 for the touch of a vanish' d hand, And the sound of a voice that is still! Break, break, break At the foot of thy crags, 0 Sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me. SEA HIISTORY 138, SPRING 201 2