May 21 - 27, 2017: Issue 313

The Surfer

I AM one with the sparkle and spray— 
One with the light and the sea.
Now I break out of a wave,
Now the wave breaks over me! 

Up to the combers and in
Breath-taking moment! — -and then
The- roller lies spent on the sands-~
But I — I go back again! 

Oho, white horses and I!
Rushing along together! ..
Swift, untamed, and free—
Free in the perfect weather!

Again and again the green
Arc of the wave over me!
I am prostrate here on the sands. 
And my gods are the Sun and the Sea! 
Boonah. E. M. ENGLAND.
THE SURFER (1935, December 28). The Courier-Mail (Brisbane, Qld. : 1933 - 1954), p. 10. Retrieved from 
The Surfer
GREAT green wall that rears to meet me —
See! The crest that dips portentous!
Cleaving through I dive to greet thee.
There in safety, lying loosely
Oceanwise, while o'er me rushing
Tons of crystal, shoreward, crushing,
Scattering diamonds, sandy bubbles.
Up! I shoot to find the sunshine
In the air that 'wraps me warmly.
With a laugh I shout, 'The world's mine!'
Was there terror, there in cov'ring
'Neath the tearing, tickling, smoth'ring
Great green wall that reared to meet me?
See! The crest that dips portentous!
— Rosalie Wilson.
The Surfer (1934, December 5). Sydney Mail (NSW : 1912 - 1938), p. 56. Retrieved from 
Up in the morning blithe and early,
Seeking the breakers bright and pearly:
Whistling, it may be, a merry number
Let who will on their couches slumber —
Man and woman and girl and boy;
There is no joy like the surfer's joy!

Down where the comber rears and races,
Yielding oneself to its fierce embraces —
Soul and body in glad surrender —
Lit and graced by the morning splendour,
Magic and music., shimmer and shine —
Who shall name me a joy as fine?

Only a porpoise rolling, leaping .
Only a schooner southward creeping —
Rails agleam and sails a shimmer —
Share the scene with the early swimmer:
Reckless rapture and keen sweet bliss —
Who shall match me a joy like this?

Out of the swift waves, rising, falling .
Comes the voice of the old sea calling :
Man once more to its large life winning,
Just as it did at the world's beginning;
Luring him forth with notes of gold
To cleave and clasp it, as once of old.

Up and out in the sunshine strolling,
Seeking the breakers shoreward rolling,
Whistling, it may be, a merry number
Let who will on their couches slumber — 
Man and woman and girl and boy;
There is no joy like the surfer's joy.
THE SURFER (1921, December 14).Sydney Mail (NSW : 1912 - 1938), p. 39. Retrieved  from 
(For the 'Sunday Times.')
Swish, swash ; swish, swash ;
In the surf all a-tumble,
The rollers arriving In rhythmical rumble ;
The briny a-swilling me,
Ozone a-filling me—
Think of the glee of It I
Give me a spree of It I
Green, opalescent, and foamy the crest of them;
Ocean hath charms, and the breakers the best of them ;
Give me the surge of the surf —
Swish, swash.

Swish, swash ; swish, swash ;
Oh, give me a swirl of them,
Cooped In the curl of them, feeling the hurl of them ;
Shooting the shore in a frenzied elation,
And knowing there's something worth while In Creation.
The sweep of the roller has something that's best of it ;
Vigor and vim in the crash of the crest of It;
Oh, how I long to be there and abreast of It ;
Rocking In revelling riot in zest of it.
Give me the surf in the Summer —
Swish, swash.

Swish, swash ; swlsh, swash- ;
'Tis the briny inviting me ;
Toil is a-blighting me, nerves are inciting me ;
Worry Is biting me ;
Give me embracing of rollers a-racing,
And foamers a-gracing the stretch of the beach. '
Oh ! Sydney, one's nerves on thy shores get a tonic —
Twould sparkle up life in a corpse that Is chronic. 
Oh ! exhilaration of zephyr and comber, 
Ozonic aroma on gleaming sand reach,
And all that is sordid must vanish in spray.
Oh ! give me the surf and the bright sunny day !
THE SONG OF THE SURFER (1907, October 27). Sunday Times (Sydney, NSW : 1895 - 1930), p. 5 (The Sunday Times MAGAZINE SECTION). Retrieved from