An old man looks out from his cottage at a ridge of sand dunes that blocks his view of the sea. To him it is both a gilded bar and a prison door, a wall that shuts him in and hides everything beyond it. The tide leaves shells and strands of seaweed at his feet, and his thoughts follow the screaming terns out past what his eyes can see.
What he feels is a mix of longing and frustration. He has already sailed to places like Ceylon, Singapore and Celebes, yet those voyages haven't satisfied him. Now his eyesight is failing and his limbs are old, so he is confined by circumstance.
The mood is wistful and quietly stubborn. The sea is hushed and the light hazy, almost magical, but the last lines turn hopeful. Among the embers of memory, the speaker says, one flame of adventure never dies. Age has limited his body, but not his appetite for wonder.