The gas was on in the Institute, <br />The flare was up in the gym, <br />A man was running a mineral line, <br />A lass was singing a hymn, <br />When Captain Webb the Dawley man, <br />Captain Webb from Dawley, <br />Came swimming along the old canal <br />That carried the bricks to Lawley. <br />Swimming along - <br />Swimming along - <br />Swimming along from Severn, <br />And paying a call at Dawley Bank while swimming along to Heaven. <br /> <br />The sun shone low on the railway line <br />And over the bricks and stacks <br />And in at the upstairs windows <br />Of the Dawley houses' backs <br />When we saw the ghost of Captain Webb, <br />Webb in a water sheeting, <br />Come dripping along in a bathing dress <br />To the Saturday evening meeting. <br />Dripping along - <br />Dripping along - <br />To the Congregational Hall; <br />Dripping and still he rose over the sill and faded away in a wall. <br /> <br />There wasn't a man in Oakengates <br />That hadn't got hold of the tale, <br />And over the valley in Ironbridge, <br />And round by Coalbrookdale, <br />How Captain Webb the Dawley man, <br />Captain Webb from Dawley, <br />Rose rigid and dead from the old canal <br />That carries the bricks to Lawley. <br />Rigid and dead - <br />Rigid and dead - <br />To the Saturday congregation, <br />Paying a call at Dawley Bank on the way to his destination.<br /><br />John Betjeman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-shropshire-lad/
