Fair Weather

by Dorothy Parker

This level reach of blue is not my sea;

Here are sweet waters, pretty in the sun,

Whose quiet ripples meet obediently

A marked and measured line, one after one.

This is no sea of mine. that humbly laves

Untroubled sands, spread glittering and warm.

I have a need of wilder, crueler waves;

They sicken of the calm, who knew the storm.

So let a love beat over me again,

Loosing its million desperate breakers wide;

Sudden and terrible to rise and wane;

Roaring the heavens apart; a reckless tide

That casts upon the heart, as it recedes,

Splinters and spars and dripping, salty weeds.