THE OLD SHIP
Reading edition
When the long, low clouds about the West Are rose, ash-gray, and amethyst, And the sky between pours saffron-gold, And the wind along the dykes runs cold, A huge old bark with an orange sail, Mellowed and tattered by many a gale, Will slowly come through the estuary, Old, sea-haggard, and strange, and merry.
Where the red, warm moon rounds slowly over The low, flat fields that breathe sweet clover, Through banks of poppies on either hand The dykes run liquidly into the land. The old, old ship will come up from the sea Farther afield than a ship should be, And sail on softly, softly and still, And dock inland by a wooded hill. Then will come silently, flocks of sheep Silver as clouds remembered in sleep, Cross to the moonlight and leap the stile; And he who shepherds them all will smile,
Play on his pipes and smile to see The gay old sails lift over a tree. His feet will dance on the grass like foam And he will play “When the ship comes home.”
