19 JULY 1930, Page 13

The Tramp Ship

A TRAMP ship from the fog-bound northern sea,

Blinding a course through sleet and angry foam, Swung into berth beside the shivering quay, That winter's dawn to bring my lover home.

The dock-hands stirred and cursed themselves awake, Mocking the grimy tramp, all bent and torn By murderous wave and fierce ice-pointed flake . . . And yet to me, whose prayers were for that morn, More wonderful than purple Tyrian ships,

Or golden galleons coming home to Spain, When he caressed and comforted my lips,

Seemed the poor hulk that gave me him again.

LAURENCE Powys.