I saw a ship sailing,
No other ship in sight.
Steadily she was sailing
Although the wind fell light.
Although the wind was failing
Still she kept sailing.
No hand there that steered her,
No wind that strained her sheet.
And as I gazed I feared her:
Why should she be so fleet
Since no crew’s chanty cheered her,
And no wind neared her?
Her strange sure motion
Carried her swiftly past;
Over the rim of ocean
I watched her dip her mast.
Still no wind blew in motion
Across the ocean.
GENOESE MERCHANTS
THEY garnered wealth from far barbarian shores,
From Caffa, Tyre, and Trebizond,
And Tartar provinces beyond;
Furs, spices, oranges, and slaves.
High galleys waited, runged with tiers of oars,
And rippled their reflection in the waves.
Bearded and serge-clad merchants, tightly-lipped,
They stood in groups along the foreign quays
Watching the cargo shipped
By coloured sons of Asia; these
Groaned loaded up the planks, and rolled
Their burdens down the hold;
And back the planks unburdened nimbly tripped,
Their pumpkin-fluted turbans and their scarves
Ballooning as they swarmed upon the wharves.
And some old shaven brightly-plumaged priest,
Drowsing outside his mosque when shadows fall
Like lengthened lances pointing to the East,
From fourfold minaret,
And through the iron grating in the wall
The sun-flushed Himalaya guards Thibet,
—He, fat and somnolent,
Yawning amongst the pigeons’ sleek content,
Opened one crafty, long, Mongolian eye,
And saw the slim Italian passing by
With soft-foot tread
Into the mosque, but never raised his head,
And slipped his cedar beads, and never stirred
Though the quick patter of the coins he heard
Fall in a handful mixed of maize and rice
Flung to the pigeons, coins that were his price.
While far, in Europe, lay the Flemish fairs,
The marts of Ypres, the Jews of busy Thames
Greedy to clutch the unfamiliar gems,
And rummage in the bales of rich exotic wares.