But could a storm coerce my ship whene’er she wished to go!
My ship is an old ship and her sails are torn and grey,
And she’s not white and beautiful, nor fragile such as they,
But she has sailed o’er every sea to every land a-gleam,
And on her decks make merry now the wraiths of youthful dream!
VISIONS
By Edmund Leamy
I never watch the sun set a-down the Western skies
But that within its wonderness I see my mother’s eyes;
I never hear the West wind sob softly in the trees