Dorothy Parker
Fair Weather
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