A FAREWELL TO AFRICA

By Francis Brett Young

Now once again, upon the pole-star's bearing,

We plough these furrowed fields where no blade springeth;

Again the busy trade in the halyards singeth

Sun-whitened spindrift from the blown wave shearing;

The uncomplaining sea suffers our faring;

In a brazen glitter our little wake is lost,

And the starry south rolls over until no ghost

Remaineth of us and all our pitiful daring;

For the sea beareth no trace of man's endeavour,

His might enarmoured, his prosperous argosies,

Soundless, within her unsounded caves, forever

She broodeth, knowing neither war nor peace,

And our grey cruisers holds in mind no more

Than the cedarn fleets that Sheba's treasure bore.