Cicely Fox Smith
Salvage - Poem by Cicely Fox Smith
Not the encounter of navies in battle array -
The roar of salvoes - the smoke-wrack that darkens the day -
But a mined ship with her forepeak full
Off the Foreland, waiting towing
. . .
Not the white flame of the searchlights, the red glare between,
The heaven-splitting thunder and roar of the struck magazine -
But a fog rolling up the Channel as white as wool,
And never a light showing
. . .
Not the fierce dash of destroyers - the bow-wave like snow -
The track of the headlong torpedo launched swift on the foe -
But a ship aground off the Long Sand light,
And a hell of a gale blowing
. . .
Not the stern splendour of battle, the glory, the fame,
Not the awarding of honours, the nation's acclaim,
But a crew and a cargo to take off in the night,
And the light fast going . . .
(But only the duty and the deed - whose reward is in no man's bestowing!)
Comments about Salvage by Cicely Fox Smith
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You