I have seen old ships like swans asleep <br />Beyond the village which men call Tyre, <br />With leaden age o'ercargoed, dipping deep <br />For Famagusta and the hidden sun <br />That rings black Cyprus with a lake of fire; <br />And all those ships were certainly so old <br />Who knows how oft with squat and noisy gun, <br />Questing brown slaves or Syrian oranges, <br />The pirate Genoese <br />Hell-raked them till they rolled <br />Blood, water, fruit and corpses up the hold. <br />But now through friendly seas they softly run, <br />Painted the mid-sea blue or shore-sea green, <br />Still patterned with the vine and grapes in gold. <br /> <br />But I have seen, <br />Pointing her shapely shadows from the dawn <br />And image tumbed on a rose-swept bay, <br />A drowsy ship of some yet older day; <br />And, wonder's breath indrawn, <br />Thought I - who knows - who knows - but in that same (Fished up beyond Ææa, patched up new - <br />Stern painted brighter blue -) <br />That talkative, bald-headed seaman came <br />(Twelve patient comrades sweating at the oar) <br />From Troy's doom-crimson shore, <br />And with great lies about his wooden horse <br />Set the crew laughing, and forgot his course. <br /> <br /> It was so old a ship - who knows, who knows? - <br />And yet so beautiful, I watched in vain <br />To see the mast burst open with a rose, <br />And the whole deck put on its leaves again.<br /><br />James Elroy Flecker<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-old-ships/
