Classic Poem

Up and down on West Street the big drays go—
Wagonloads of merchandise passing to and fro,
Up from ships, and down to ships, regular as song,
Ceaselessly and endlessly the whole day long.

Some bear but prosaic things, sacks to fill the hold,
Flour and wheat and cotton things worth a miser's gold;
Others from the deep sea ships—fruits of foreign lands,
Spices, scents and ivory, gems and silken bands.

Copra, pearl and coffee bean, chiles, hides and wax,
Sisal, cedar, ebony, cocoa, rubber, flax,
Motor cars, machinery, iron, rails and steel,
Music, mirrors, microscopes, rope and rickshaw wheel.

But outward freight or inward freight, borne by straining teams,
Each amid the merchandise holds its load of dreams—
Little, lonely, wistful dreams from many a restless breast
For the incense laden Orient or the new lands of the West.