In the Docks
WHERE the bales thunder till the day is done,And the wild sounds with wilder odors cope;Where over crouching sail and coiling rope,Lascar and Moor along the gangway run;Where stifled Thames spreads in the pallid sun,A hive of anarchy from slope to slope;Flag of my birth, my liberty, my hope,I see thee at the masthead, joyous one!O thou good guest! So oft as, young and warm,To the home-wind thy hoisted colors bound,Away, away from this too thoughtful ground,Sated with human trespass and despair,Thee only, from the desert, from the storm,A sick mind follows into Eden air.
WHERE the bales thunder till the day is done,And the wild sounds with wilder odors cope;Where over crouching sail and coiling rope,Lascar and Moor along the gangway run;Where stifled Thames spreads in the pallid sun,A hive of anarchy from slope to slope;Flag of my birth, my liberty, my hope,I see thee at the masthead, joyous one!O thou good guest! So oft as, young and warm,To the home-wind thy hoisted colors bound,Away, away from this too thoughtful ground,Sated with human trespass and despair,Thee only, from the desert, from the storm,A sick mind follows into Eden air.
WHERE the bales thunder till the day is done,And the wild sounds with wilder odors cope;Where over crouching sail and coiling rope,Lascar and Moor along the gangway run;Where stifled Thames spreads in the pallid sun,A hive of anarchy from slope to slope;Flag of my birth, my liberty, my hope,I see thee at the masthead, joyous one!
WHERE the bales thunder till the day is done,
And the wild sounds with wilder odors cope;
Where over crouching sail and coiling rope,
Lascar and Moor along the gangway run;
Where stifled Thames spreads in the pallid sun,
A hive of anarchy from slope to slope;
Flag of my birth, my liberty, my hope,
I see thee at the masthead, joyous one!
O thou good guest! So oft as, young and warm,To the home-wind thy hoisted colors bound,Away, away from this too thoughtful ground,Sated with human trespass and despair,Thee only, from the desert, from the storm,A sick mind follows into Eden air.
O thou good guest! So oft as, young and warm,
To the home-wind thy hoisted colors bound,
Away, away from this too thoughtful ground,
Sated with human trespass and despair,
Thee only, from the desert, from the storm,
A sick mind follows into Eden air.