Not much by way of luggage or farewell
Here at Southampton harbour. Be it so.
Whatever might be said is said by now
As one by one along a warehouse wall
Pathetic ribbons break apart and fall

Music. A cheerful bell, an organ blast
To clear the deck and blow away the past.
A time for celebration? Time will tell.
The great ship moves to meet the Atlantic swell.

Vast emptiness. I pitch the locust years
Like rubbish to the gulls for they were full
Of broken promises. Some good may come
From parting, inasmuch as common cares
Make all directions equal and the whole
Dark-spinning, crowded globe to be my home.
Beyond the coast in oriental skies
venus is rising. Mirrored in the foam,
Her path is radiant.
Circles.