Relaxing Ocean Waves Sounds for Sleeping

Imperially free,
The bay slow-widens out into the sea,
Subdues its lordly headlands, cramps its shore,
Hushes its breakers to a silent gleam,
And yields itself entire for evermore
To ocean's incommunicable dream.
Who follows? What far-winged flight of soul
Spurns the near dancing wave,
And set and brave
Beats out and out beyond all tame control
Into the age-long sweep.
The dim and dread horizons of the deep?
look not behind
At waning cottage and the friendly wood,
Things warm and bright and fondly understood,
Hearts dearly good.
Be desperately deaf, be sternly blind
Fling yourself out into forgetfulness,
And press, press, press
Through the austere, untrodden wastes of air,
Seeking what thing is there.
Yours not to say
What you shall meet on this mysterious way,
Red lightnings crashing through demonic night,
Delicate seas that laugh into the light,
The gaping mouths of monsters waiting grim,
Sweet islands wreathed and dim,
Or only barren wastes of mocking spray
Ever rebuffing whom they still invite.
Nor dare you feel
Here in this welter of the infinite
That you are less than it.
Though purpose falter and though spirit reel
With vastness of the waters and the dread
Of nothingness, and though your soul is dead,
And all is dead above you and below
And in the fog-filled void to which you go
Still must you go invincible, serene,
Still must you proudly know
You are but traversing your own demesne.
And must we seek forever through the air?
Must we forever bear
This awful weight of loneliness, nor turn
Back to the homely bay for which we yearn,
Back to the cottage comforts fondly fair?
Yes, comrade, yes?
Whoever takes this path,
At peril of hot shame and branding wrath
Must not turn back,
But press, press, press
Upon the vague, unending, glorious track,
Whate'er the ocean hath.
Who once has felt the sea-sweep, nevermore
May dare to know the confines of the shore.