For the heart it shall go with the treasure-go down to the sea in ships. I'm sick of the hired women-I'll kiss my girl on her lips! I'll be content with my fountain, I'll drink from my own well, And the wife of my youth shall charm me—an' the rest can go to Hell! (Dickie, he will, that's certain.) I'll lie in our standin'bed, An' Mac'll take her in ballast-an' she trims best by the head. . . . Down by the head an' sinkin', her fires are drawn and cold, And the water's splashin' hollow on the skin of the empty hold Churning an' choking and chuckling, quiet and scummy and dark Full to her lower hatches and risin' steady. Hark! That was the after-bulkhead. . . She's flooded Never seen death yet, Dickie? . . . Well, now is your time to learn! SESTINA OF THE TRAMP-ROYAL SPEAKIN' in general, I 'ave tried 'em all, What do it matter where or 'ow we die, So long as we've our 'ealth to watch it all— The different ways that different things are done, In cash or credit-no, it aren't no good; But, Gawd, what things are they I 'aven't done? For 'im that doth not work must surely die; Therefore, from job to job I've moved along. It's like a book, I think, this bloomin' world, But what you're after is to turn 'em all. Gawd bless this world! Whatever she 'ath done- When 'Omer smote 'is bloomin' lyre, He'd 'eard men sing by land an' sea; An' what he thought 'e might require, 'E went an' took-the same as me! The market-girls an' fishermen, The shepherds an' the sailors, too, They 'eard old songs turn up again, But kep' it quiet-same as you! They knew 'e stole; 'e knew they knowed. An' 'e winked back-the same as us! |