WHERE Blackmoor was, the road that led To Bath, she could not show, Nor point the sky that overspread Towns ten miles off or so. But that Calcutta stood this way, Cape Horn there figured fell, That here was Boston, here Bombay, She could declare full well. Less known to her the track athwart Froom Mead or Yell'ham Wood Than how to make some Austral port In seas of surly mood. She saw the glint of Guinea's shore Behind the plum-tree nigh, Heard old unruly Biscay's roar In the weir's purl hard by.... 'My son's a sailor, and he knows All seas and many lands, And when he's home he points and shows Each country where it stands. 'He's now just there - by Gib's high rock - And when he gets, you see, To Portsmouth here, behind the clock, Then he'll come back to me!' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SCINTILLA by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE THE SHEPHERD BOY'S SONG, FR. THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS by JOHN BUNYAN SUMMER IN ENGLAND, 1914 by ALICE MEYNELL HENRY WARD BEECHER by CHARLES HENRY PHELPS MONT BLANC; LINES WRITTEN IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNI by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY |