Classic Poem

The reek of boiling cutch: against the sky
Wet dripping amber of the new-dipped sails
Hung on the crag-top in the sun to dry,
Flapping against the tarry glistering rails
In a wind that brings a tang of burning kelp:
A sleek black cormorant on a scar rose-red
Washed by unfoaming emerald; and the yelp
Of gulls that wheel unwavering overhead—

Clear colours, searching odours, and keen cries
Sting all my eager senses to fresh life
With tingling ears and nostrils and smarting eyes:
Yet even now in sick unending strife
In a wide slimy welter oversea
Men spill each other's blood indifferently.