Cargoes

CARGOES

By John Masefield

      Quinquireme of Nineveh from distant Ophir,

      Rowing home to haven in sunny Palestine,

      With a cargo of ivory.

      And apes and peacocks,

      Sandalwood, cedarwood, and sweet white wine.

   Stately Spanish galleon coming from the Isthmus,

   Dipping through the Tropics by the palm-green shores,

   With a cargo of diamonds,

   Emeralds, amethysts,

   Topazes, and cinnamon, and gold moidores.

 

               Dirty British coaster with a salt-caked smoke-stack,

               Butting through the Channel in the mad March days,

               With a cargo of Tyne coal,

               Road-rails, pig-lead,

               Firewood, iron-ware, and cheap tin trays.

I was sitting in my car Tuesday evening, waiting for class time, when this train went by in front of me. As I took pictures, this poem of Masefield's came to mind.

My fondness for Masefield's poetry marks me as hopelessly old-fashioned. (I first met him when young and impressionable and reading my mother's college textbooks from the Thirties.) But what a word lover he is! And I'm a sucker for a good beat.