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.
