Saturday, June 16, 2012

Enoch Powell: First Poems: XXXVII) The Castaways

XXXVII) The Castaways

Oh, glad rang every Falmouth bell
That far-off Sabbath morn,
And golden shone the summer sun
On old Pendennis head,
And sorrowful at heart was none
But light our vessel sped,
When we to England bade farewell
And sailed for the southern Horn.

And still the bells of Falmouth ring
Loud in our hearts to-day,
And golden still Pendennis crest
Before us sunlit lies;
But sorrow now is at our breast
And tears before our eyes:
For us there is no home-coming,
But lost we are for aye.

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