Cicely Fox Smith Poems

Now hark, all good hunters, I'll sing you the praise
Of a brave hound and goodly, that's worth
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'I come ashore off a Cardiff tramp - the worst as ever I see:
She was all the things you could name,' said Bill, 'as a ship's no right to be:
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In a dear land, in a dim land,
By well-remembered streams,
Bare trees in moorland hollows stand
Where a lost sunset gleams;
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Women wear trousers
To trail round the shops;
Women in trousers
Wield brushes and mops.
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I don't know who Saint Mawes was, but he surely can't have been
A stiff old stone gazebo on a carved cathedral screen,
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A ship swinging
As the tide swings, up and down,
And men's voices singing, -
East away O! West away!
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This is the yarn that M'Larty told by the brazier fire,
Where over the mud-filled trenches the star-shells blaze and expire -
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'Oh, a sailor's life's a dog's life, an' that's the truth,' says Bill,
'A sailor's life's a dog's life, look at it 'ow you will;
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The frost is on the pane and the rime's on the ground
And pitch-dark the morn,
And a bitter wind comes up with a weary piping sound
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Yestreen I walked where wind and tree
Called all the lost years back to me,
Where shaken leaf and waft of bird
...