Old Ships

The Old Ships

I have seen old ships sail like swans asleep   
Beyond the village which men still call Tyre,   
With leaden age o'ercargoed, dipping deep   
For Famagusta and the hidden sun   
That rings black Cyprus with a lake of fire;      
And all those ships were certainly so old—   
Who knows how oft with squat and noisy gun,   
Questing brown slaves or Syrian oranges,   
The pirate Genoese   
Hell-raked them till they rolled   
Blood, water, fruit and corpses up the hold.   
But now through friendly seas they softly run,   
Painted the mid-sea blue or shore-sea green,   
Still patterned with the vine and grapes in gold.

James Elroy Flecker 1884–1915