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No more will wind-torn spray ascend,
to taunt the straining foresail’s spread;
nor will the ruthless waves contend,
to keep submerged the fo’c’stle-head.

The main-truck will not pierce the skies,
on some horizon wide and free,
as borne by ocean winds she flies,
supreme against all rivalry.

With rigging taut in Monsoon’s grip,
from fore-royal down to cro’jack’s span,
she represented more than ship;
an Ode to Beauty, built by man.

The canvas that full-bosomed swelled,
to urge the tea-chests in her hold,
was by a lesser force impelled,
than drew men to Alaska’s gold.

The languor of the tropic night,
that held her on the China Run,
is one with storms’ vandalic spite;
a stage passed in a task well done.

 

Note:
The Cutty Sark, formerly one of the fastest tea-clippers, now used as a training ship on the Thames, at one time carried gold-prospectors to North America.

T. C. Hudson
8th June 1938

© T. C. Hudson.

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