1Who hath desired the Sea?—the sight of salt water unbounded—
2The heave and the halt and the hurl and the crash of the comber wind-hounded?
3The sleek-barrelled swell before storm, grey, foamless, enormous, and growing—
4Stark calm on the lap of the Line or the crazy-eyed hurricane blowing—
5His Sea in no showing the same his Sea and the same 'neath each showing:
6His Sea as she slackens or thrills?
7So and no otherwise—so and no otherwise—hillmen desire their Hills!
8Who hath desired the Sea?—the immense and contemptuous surges?
9The shudder, the stumble, the swerve, as the star-stabbing bow-sprit emerges?
10The orderly clouds of the Trades, the ridged, roaring sapphire thereunder—
11Unheralded cliff-haunting flaws and the headsail's low-volleying thunder—
12His Sea in no wonder the same—his Sea and the same through each wonder:
13His Sea as she rages or stills?
14So and no otherwise—so and no otherwise—hillmen desire their Hills.
15Who hath desired the Sea? Her menaces swift as her mercies?
16The in-rolling walls of the fog and the silver-winged breeze that disperses?
17The unstable mined berg going South and the calvings and groans that declare it—
18White water half-guessed overside and the moon breaking timely to bare it—
19His Sea as his fathers have dared—his Sea as his children shall dare it:
20His Sea as she serves him or kills?
21So and no otherwise—so and no otherwise—hillmen desire their Hills.
22Who hath desired the Sea? Her excellent loneliness rather
23Than forecourts of kings, and her outermost pits than the streets where men gather
24Inland, among dust, under trees—inland where the slayer may slay him—
25Inland, out of reach of her arms, and the bosom whereon he must lay him—
26His Sea from the first that betrayed—at the last that shall never betray him:
27His Sea that his being fulfils?
28So and no otherwise—so and no otherwise—hillmen desire their Hills.
"The Sea and the Hills" was written by Rudyard Kipling and first published (in part) in his popular 1901 novel, Kim. The poem depicts the sea as a wild, vibrant, unpredictable place that calls out to those with an adventurous spirit and a taste for danger. The poem contrasts those who long for the sea with "Hillmen"—those who prefer a presumably calmer, steadier life back on land. With its vivid imagery and rollicking rhythms, the poem captures the sea's thrilling power on the page.
Who longs for the sea? For the sight of limitless salty water and a long, curling wave getting violently tossed around by the wind? For the enormous, gray, glossy column of water that swells before a storm and keeps getting larger? For the total calm near the equator or the angry hurricane as it blows? For the sea, which is never the same and yet is always the same; for the sea, whether she's relaxing or exciting? Just like people desire the sea, hill-dwelling people long for their hills.
Who longs for the sea—for its vast, hate-filled surges of water? For the shaking, lurching, and veering of a boat as its mast, pointing at the starry sky, bursts through the surge? For the neat clouds formed by trade winds, and the sharp, thundering, glittering blue waves below them? For the sudden gusts blowing off the cliffs, and the low, booming, thunder-like sound of the ship's headsail? For the sea in which no two wonders are the same, and yet remains constant throughout each wonder? For the sea, whether she's angry or calm? Just like people desire the sea, hill-dwelling people long for their hills.
Who longs for the sea, who is as quick to rage as she is to be kind? For the thick walls of incoming fog and the silvery breeze that blows it away? For the unsteady icebergs traveling south, and the deep, thundering sounds made as large chunks break off of them? For the white water that the sailor can guess is nearby, and the moon that comes out at the just right time to reveal it? For the sea on which generations before have dared to travel, and on which future generations will dare to travel too? For the sea that can serve people as easily as kill them? Just like people desire the sea, hill-dwelling people long for their hills.
Who longs for the sea? Who prefers the sea's wonderful solitude over the busy courts of kings? The furthest reaches of the sea over busy streets inland among dusty trees, where a killer might kill someone? Inland, the lover of the sea is too far from her arms, from the bosom on which he'd like to rest. The sea betrays people from the start but it never betrays them in the end; the sea makes people feel whole and content. Just like people desire the sea, hill-dwelling people long for their hills.
"The Sea and the Hills" presents the sea as a fearsome, magnificent force that people rightly marvel at but can't predict or master. In illustrating that the sea (and perhaps nature in general) can be utterly ferocious, the poem further suggests that those who attempt to cross it would do well to anticipate and respect the sea's angry moods.
The poem is filled with vivid descriptions that convey the sea's awesome power. For example, its waves are "immense and contemptuous surges"—that is, huge bursts of water seemingly hellbent on destruction. The sea can be full of "menaces" and even "kills" when it "rages"; it violently rocks ships on its waves, which roar like thunder beneath the clouds.
At other times, however, the sea can be lovely, gentle, and even nurturing. There's beauty in its "roaring sapphire," which the speaker argues can be as merciful as it is menacing. Emphasizing this, the poem personifies the sea as a woman, perhaps a mother or a lover, calling people into "her arms" and to lay on her "bosom." Sometimes, the sea provides people with an "excellent loneliness," her "stark calm" and soothing rhythms offering an escape from the interpersonal squabbles of the human world. The sea's vastness, the poem suggests, puts human troubles into perspective.
The sea's contradictions are also what define it. The sea "rages or stills," "serves or kills," betrays people in the beginning but never betrays them in the end. It is in "no showing the same" and yet the same in every "showing." In other words, it's never certain what version of the sea people are going to get. Angry or loving, chaotic or calm, its might dwarfs humanity's own and inspires a sense of overwhelming awe.
In addition to painting a vivid portrait of the sea, the poem also zooms in on the kind of person the sea appeals to—and the kind of person who’d rather stick to dry land. The speaker repeatedly asks "who hath desired the sea?" That is, the poem wonders who would ever long to set sail on such an unpredictable, powerful entity. The answer, the poem implies, is that the sea's wild, ever-changing nature casts a spell over those with a taste for excitement and exploration. It offers them the chance for adventure that simply doesn't exist on solid ground—but with that adventure comes grave danger, too.
Seafarers, the speaker argues, are born with an instinctive longing for the waves that gets passed down through generations: "Fathers have dared [to sail the Sea]," says the speaker, "his children shall dare it" too. Such people find regular life boring and stifling, choosing the sea's "excellent loneliness rather / Than forecourts of kings." They might be isolated while out on the ocean, but they're also free from political dealings and societal expectations.
The water is liberating, but it also comes at the cost of stability and security. Thus, despite its thrilling allure, some (perhaps most) people don't long for the sea. "Hillmen," the speaker definitively declares, "desire their hills"—they prefer a more staid, steady existence of life on land. In fact, the poem says they desire their environment in the same way as sea-lovers long for theirs: "So and no otherwise - so and no otherwise - hillmen desire their Hills!" People want what they want, the poem implies; their yearning for safety or adventure are built into who they are, and people are content only when honoring to their true natures.
Who hath desired the Sea?—the sight of salt water unbounded—
The heave and the halt and the hurl and the crash of the comber wind-hounded?
The poem opens with a question: "Who hath desired the Sea?" That is, what kind of people feel drawn to the sea? This opening question becomes a refrain, heading up all four stanzas almost like a call to arms to any and all who love the ocean. The speaker follows the question with vivid imagery that conveys the sea's enormity and its capacity for violence. Right away, readers sense that the sea is a force much more powerful than any human being.
Who longs for "the sight of salt water unbounded," the speaker asks—that is, who wants to look out at the vast expanse of the open ocean? The sea is "unbounded" as far as the eye can see (no pun intended); it seems to go on forever, in turn suggesting a sense of freedom and possibility perhaps not available back on land. Hissing sibilance ("sight of salt") evokes the salty sea spray being described.
Next, the speaker describes a long, curling wave—a.k.a. a "comber"—in minute detail: there's the "heave" (the rising up of the water); the "halt" (the strange pause that occurs when the wave climbs to its peak); the "hurl" (the wave as it's thrown down); and finally the "crash" as the wave breaks against the surface. The speaker personifies the wind here as a kind of "hunter" chasing the waves, making the scene seem all the more primal and frightening.
The huffing /h/ alliteration of "heave," "halt," and "hurl" suggests the great effort/power it takes to create this incredible sight, while the sharp alliteration of "crash" and "comber" is striking and violent. The line features polysyndeton as well:
The heave and the halt and the hurl and the crash of the comber wind-hounded?
The actions just seem to keep going and going, piling on top of each other and making the whole image seem positively overwhelming.
These two opening lines form a long, sprawling couplet. They stretch across the page like waves about to break, creating a sense of building tension that's released by the rhyme of "unbounded"/"wind-hounded."
The poem's meter isn't regular, but there's a clear, rollicking rhythm at work. Most of the feet here are anapests, meaning they follow an unstressed-unstressed-stressed syllable pattern (da-da-DUM) or dactyls (the opposite of anapests: DUM-da-da).
Who hath desired the Sea?—the sight of salt water unbounded—
The heave and the halt and the hurl and the crash of the comber wind-hounded?
There are some iambs (unstressed-stressed; da-DUM) as well. It's possible to break the feat up in various ways; whatever terminology readers use, however, the poem's meter evokes galloping horses—or, perhaps, the cyclical rise and fall of waves. The rough meter mirrors the roughness of the sea's waters, its booming, forceful rhythms conjuring the sea's power onto the page.
The sleek-barrelled swell before storm, grey, foamless, enormous, and growing—
Stark calm on the lap of the Line or the crazy-eyed hurricane blowing—
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Get LitCharts A+His Sea in no showing the same his Sea and the same 'neath each showing:
His Sea as she slackens or thrills?
So and no otherwise—so and no otherwise—hillmen desire their Hills!
Who hath desired the Sea?—the immense and contemptuous surges?
The shudder, the stumble, the swerve, as the star-stabbing bow-sprit emerges?
The orderly clouds of the Trades, the ridged, roaring sapphire thereunder—
Unheralded cliff-haunting flaws and the headsail's low-volleying thunder—
His Sea in no wonder the same—his Sea and the same through each wonder:
His Sea as she rages or stills?
So and no otherwise—so and no otherwise—hillmen desire their Hills.
Who hath desired the Sea? Her menaces swift as her mercies?
The in-rolling walls of the fog and the silver-winged breeze that disperses?
The unstable mined berg going South and the calvings and groans that declare it—
White water half-guessed overside and the moon breaking timely to bare it—
His Sea as his fathers have dared—his Sea as his children shall dare it:
His Sea as she serves him or kills?
So and no otherwise—so and no otherwise—hillmen desire their Hills.
Who hath desired the Sea? Her excellent loneliness rather
Than forecourts of kings, and her outermost pits than the streets where men gather
Inland, among dust, under trees—inland where the slayer may slay him—
Inland, out of reach of her arms, and the bosom whereon he must lay him—
His Sea from the first that betrayed—at the last that shall never betray him:
His Sea that his being fulfils?
So and no otherwise—so and no otherwise—hillmen desire their Hills.
Alliteration fills the poem with noisy, boisterous music that evokes the immense power and chaos of the sea.
Much of the alliteration is sibilant, calling to mind the splash and crash of waves. Take the first line, for example, where hissing /s/ sounds of "Sea" and "sight of salt water" makes it so one can almost taste the salty air.
The alliteration in the next line is just as evocative. Huffing /h/ sounds suggest the great strength and physical effort required to "heave" those long waves up and "hurl" them back down, while crashing, cacophonous /k/ sounds convey the violent breaking of the wave:
The heave and the halt and the hurl and the crash of the comber wind-hounded?
Alliteration can also link words/concepts together. In line 15, for example, the speaker refers to the sea's "menaces" and "mercies." The point here is that the sea doles out both cruelty and kindness in equal measure. The sonic similarity of these two words, created through alliteration and consonance ("menaces," "mercies"), reflects just how fine the line is between the sea's wrath and its forgiveness.
Likewise, the refrain in the last line of each stanza sonically links the "hillmen" with their "Hills." The similarity of the two words suggests that hill-dwelling people belong in their chosen environment (this is also an example of polyptoton, in which two words in close proximity are drawn from the same root).
Note that alliteration is just one of many sonic devices in the poem. Others, including consonance and assonance, which further add to the poem's rip-roaring music. Take "So and no," "The shudder, the stumble," "Sea as she," "forecourts of kings," "dust, under," and so on. The poem is simply loud and rollicking.
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Get LitCharts A+Select any word below to get its definition in the context of the poem. The words are listed in the order in which they appear in the poem.
Archaic form of "has."
"The Sea and the Hills" contains four seven-line stanzas, a.k.a. septets. Though the poem doesn't follow a set form like a sonnet or a villanelle, it is nevertheless tightly organized and controlled.
For one thing, a steady rhyme scheme divides each septet into two couplets that sandwich a tercet. The length of the poem's rhyming sections subtly ebbs and flows, perhaps calling to mind the movement of the tides. Likewise, the poem's long, sweeping lines evoke the vast reaches of the sea.
The poem is also intensely repetitive in terms of both its language and imagery. Most obviously, each stanza opens and closes with the same refrain:
Who hath desired the Sea? [...]
[...]
So and no otherwise—so and no otherwise—hillmen desire their Hills!
These refrains create familiarity, the poem becoming a rousing call to arms for all sea lovers by its end.
The lines between those refrains feature clear parallelism as well. The middle lines of the first three stanzas all follow this pattern:
The [...]
The [...]
[...]
His Sea [...]
His Sea [...]
The fifth line of each stanza offers a philosophical statement about the contradictory nature of the sea, as in line 12:
His Sea in no wonder the same—his Sea and the same through each wonder:
The sixth line in each stanza is also shorter than all the rest, succinctly juxtaposing two facets of the sea's nature. For example, here's line 20:
His Sea as she serves him or kills?
The final stanza changes things up a bit but generally sticks to the rhythms established by the rest of the poem. All in all, the poem's sweeping, circular form create a sense of swirling, repetitive, endless motion that evokes the "unbounded" majesty of the sea.
"The Sea and the Hills" is a very musical poem, even if its meter isn't always exact. The meter is rough and ready, evoking the choppy rhythms of the sea as well as the lurch of sailing on the ocean's waves.
The first line of each stanza consists of dactyls (poetic feet with an stressed-unstressed-unstressed syllable pattern) and trochees (stressed-unstressed):
Who hath de- | sired the | Sea? —the | sight of salt | water un- | bounded—
For the most part, the rest of the lines in each stanza use anapests (unstressed-unstressed-stressed) and iambs (unstressed-stressed). For example, the second line is best scanned as an opening iamb followed by anapests:
The heave | and the halt | and the hurl | and the crash | of the comb- | er wind-hounded?
The second line of the second stanza has a pretty similar pattern:
The shud- | der, the stum- | ble, the swerve, | as the star- | stabbing bow- | sprit emerges?
There's no one correct way to break this meter up, however, and what matters is how it sounds. Read aloud, there's a clear rhythm at play. The poem pulls readers this way and that, evoking the heave and lurch of the waves.
Note, too, that the first five lines of each stanza end with a dangling unstressed syllable ("hounded," "growing," etc.). As a result, the first chunks of each stanza feel a bit unstable or incomplete. The final two lines of each stanza, by contrast, always feature strong endings:
The poem closes on firm, strong beats as the speaker declares that some people will always belong to the sea, just as some belong to the hills; it is "so and no otherwise."
"The Sea and the Hills" has a very regular rhyme scheme. Each stanza opens and closes with a rhyming couplet. Sandwiched between these is a tercet. The pattern, then, runs AABBBCC / DDEEEFF and so on. The clear, full rhymes add to the poem's exciting music. They're like the wind in the poem's sails, driving the language forward.
Subtly, the rhymes also mimic the motion of the sea: the rhyme scheme expands and contracts over and over again, much as waves roll in and out.
"The Sea and the Hills" features an anonymous speaker. While the speaker never outright says that they're one of those people who "hath desired the Sea," they clearly find the sea breathtaking and awe-inspiring. It's ambiguous as to whether the speaker is a sailor/explorer or simply someone who admires those daring enough to set out on "salt water unbounded." Still, the speaker has a keen awareness of the sea's power and a solid respect for both its rage and its beauty. This speaker understands that the sea is a wild, contradictory place that can be cruel or kind. Note, too, that the speaker doesn't really make any effort to paint as vivid a picture of the "Hills" as they do of the sea. This might suggest that the speaker feels more of an affinity with those people who "desire[]" the sea than with those who prefer life on land.
The also speaker personifies the sea as female throughout the poem, while talking about those who feel drawn to the sea using male terminology (often saying "His Sea" rather than "the sea"). The poem thus defers to a pretty typical Victorian Era view of men as adventurers and women as objects of desire.
While it's not clear where the speaker themselves is, the poem paints a striking portrait of the sea and what it might feel like to set sail on its unpredictable waters. In fact, despite its title, the poem says almost nothing about the "hills" at all!
The sea, in the poem, is enormous, angry, and overwhelming in its power. Waves smash, winds howl, chunks of icebergs crash into the water below with deep "groans." Sometimes there's dense fog, "crazy-eye hurricanes," or ominous gray storm swells, and the crack of wind in a ship's sails can sound like thunder or gunfire. At other times, the sea is utterly calm, warm, and inviting—a place marked by "silver-winged breeze[s]" "orderly clouds," and "sapphire" blue water. In short, the sea is a place filled with contradictions and marked by constant change. It can peaceful and violent, calm and chaotic, hateful and loving, complicated and simple, ugly and beautiful, and so on.
Rudyard Kipling was one of the most popular British writers of the late Victorian and early Edwardian periods—that is, the turn of the 20th century. Kipling published numerous novels, poetry collections, works of non-fiction, and popular children's books like The Jungle Book and Just So Stories. He was born in Mumbai, India (then under British rule), where he spent some of his adult life as well. Kipling traveled widely on the seas, both as a child and an adult, perhaps explaining his grasp of such specific details as the different stages of a "comber" wave in line 2.
The first and second verses of "The Sea and the Hills" originally appeared as headings to two chapters in Kipling's popular novel Kim, published in 1901. Kim explored the lives of ordinary people in colonialist India and other territories under British rule. Kipling later added the other two verses, publishing the full version in 1919's Inclusive Verse.
Though 1919 is deep in the period of literary modernism, "The Sea and the Hills" has more in common with the rhymes and rhythms of Victorian-era poets. The sea, of course, has long held a mysterious allure for humankind and has been the subject of countless works of literature, from Homer's Odyssey to Melville's Moby-Dick.
The first parts of "The Sea and the Hills" were published at the tail-end of the Victorian era (1837-1901). Under Queen Victoria, Britain's power expanded worldwide. Proverbially, the "sun never set on the British Empire": Britain had colonial holdings across the world and saw itself as the rightful ruler of all the lands it had conquered. Among Queen Victoria's many titles was "Empress of India," an indication of the widespread imperialist project that proceeded during her reign.
Kipling was keenly aware of the excitement offered by sea travel within the context of the British Empire, describing Mumbai, his birth-place, as the land "Where the world-end steamers [steamships] wait." (Mumbai, of course, is only a far-off, "world-end" place to someone viewing Britain as the center of the world.) Kipling was also a full-throated imperialist who paternalistically believed the British had a responsibility to guide and shape the "less civilized" countries they colonized.
When Kipling finished the full poem WWI had just finished. Britain's sea power was crucial to its survival, allowing supplies to come into the country and go out to the mainland. Kipling didn't serve in the war but supported it and the Empire more generally.
The Poem Out Loud — Listen to a recording of "The Sea and the Hills" by LibriVox (the poem begins at 1:30).
The Author's Life — Read more about Rudyard Kipling in this brief overview of his life and work from the Poetry Foundation.
Kipling and the Sea — Read more about Kipling's various adventures on the sea.