Parent and Child

Often of an evening I take the air

And linger on the bridge by the Isle of Dogs,

And sometimes see

The swan-like shape of the ship that brought me hither.

Often since then that ship has gone

To the land from which it brought me;

And on each voyage my heart accompanies it.

Should I some day in person journey with it,

My honourable father would welcome his little son.

He would not see this worn and tattered one,

This lean and sorrowful son of the waterside.

He would not see this parchment face,

This figure without lustre.

He would see his little son who left him long ago;

For love would brush away the husk of years,

And leave a little child.