The Sea Dog

I wandered up and down the quay to-day,
And yesterday, and many days before,
In and out, aboard the ships I've found my way,
And tramped their sun-baked decks till I'm foot sore;
The shipping folk are mostly strange and queer,
And yet, sometimes an old familiar face
Will greet me from the decks or on the pier,
An' then I know I'm in a friendly place.

I like to watch the freighters come an' go;
The lazy tramps go easing down the bay;
The laden schooners straining at their tow,
And shaking out their canvas on the way;
I'm happy when the cargoes from the East
Fill the air with the scent of spices and of fruit
For the wealth of tree and jungle, bird an' beast,
On the ships may tell the story of their route.

I dream of every port they touched or passed;
I can feel the tropic breezes blow once more;
I can tell just where they've reefed or stepped a mast,
Or coasted by the lights along the shore;
I like to feel that I'm a part of it,
This great big open business of the sea,
That there's a place in life for which I'm fit;
That somewhere there's a ship that's needing me.

And so I wander up and down the pier,
And squat with sweating stevedores at noon;
Sometimes they'll share with me their grub and beer,
And talk old times outside the dock saloon;
Sometimes I'll board a tramp that's loading freight,
Ah, the biggest and the best that I can find,
And I'll tell a sailor story to the mate —
And sometimes, but not often, he'll be kind.

Then again I'll meet a mate I used to know,
And he'll offer his tobaccy, and his hand;
And then he'll shake again, and off he'll go —
Talking low about the lucky dog on land;
But I don't mind their curses and their chaff,
Their sneering at the stories I have told —
There's a harder blow that strikes me like a gaff,
For when I try to ship they say: "Too old!"