Encomium
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ENCOMIUM TO A CLIPPER

By W. T. Block

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Oh, lonely clipper ship!
Withered, barnacled hulk of a dethroned sovereign,
Waterlogged with the memories of stout men,
Rotting as if in the sands of time
And wallowing in the sea of the forgotten;
Shorn of shrouds,
Denuded of wings, and
Useless to an age that
Gives no devotion to slow movement!

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Hold high your oaken masts!
Flex the muscles of your sagging spars and
Tell a hurried world that
Somewhere in these,
Your sunken bowels,
Are the organs that
Gave birth to greatness!

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