Classic Poem

There had been boat-sailing on Severn river,
And when London was reached, it seemed most easy—
Of right—to look for such joy as to see sails quiver
And pull the rudder hard round, against the breezy
Wind out of Essex, or off Kentish shores.
So to Rotherhithe blue as to dancing water,
Seeing the cleaving water before prow scatter,
And the moving surface so wonderful like bright floors.
And doubtful of all things, asked an owner there
Whether a boat might be had cheap, but little hoped
Since money was not mine, and such chance escaped
Any but those with twenty pounds to spare.
It was worrying a good man, but there was that one
Hope in me of getting a sail up, to see foam run.