Читать книгу Oxford Poetry 1917-1921 - Various Authors - Страница 29

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Against the ebbing tide we make our way.

Beyond the low green banks the fenlands stretch

To a far horizon. Trawler, smack and ketch

Are passing for the business of the day.

There is the inlet where the immortal boys,

As white and slim as ever, splash and call.

Deserted on the other bank Blake Hall

Still contemplates contemptuously their noise.

There are the docks where the tall mastheads shine

Of mighty Helsingfors, the timber ship.

And a new craft is lying in the slip

Which presently shall be baptized with wine.

The houses gather thicker, and a girl

Waves her indifferent smiling welcome. See!

The loungers are awakened on the quay

And stand to catch the rope the sailors curl.

Now grey and swift the startled seagulls wheel.

The engine-room is silent which so long

Has shaped our lives to its monotonous song.

The fenders bump against the slowing keel.

The smoke is rising from my father's home

Across the street, and flapping in the breeze

A curtain welcomes me from off the seas,

The querulous seas, where I was wont to roam.

And there miraculously free from age

The faces of my playfellows are seen.

And all is now as it has ever been,

Or smiling destiny turns back the page.

But always ere my feet are firm upon

The natal shore, dream ship, dream river fade,

And I am burdened with the choice I made

And lonely in the land where I am gone.