THE SUEZ CANAL. I stood alone one dying winter day All down an ash-strewn path. I leant and watched A single barge, coal-laden, patient, slow, A sadness as I watched her; soft and strong Died into blackness, and the old black barge What wonder if my fancy flung me far From that old English barge and dull canal Before me, to new thought of that great work In Egypt where tall vessels thread the land Disdainful of old bondage, and the sands Once smooth, are blotted by the feet of men. Then first, it seemed, the tale so often heard Rose into meaning; as the deaf, they say, Will oft-times wait until the spoken word, At first mere sound, breaks in upon their sense. I seemed half awed as by a message rung From out the childhood of my life: the film Of conscious brain-work and thick-veiling words Thinned, and I saw the present of the World Stand forth unhidden, as some far white cliff Gleams out sun-lightened from amid grey haze Blown landward from the West. Methought I passed Beyond road-netted England, far beyond The tired tossing of the wayward sea, O'er plain and tumbled mountain, till I came And watched, methought, the low and sandy shore Of Africa, where sunburnt sailors thronged The dimpled glory of the crimson sea. Once more home-cradled, with their blistered sides |