WHEN I sailed out of Baltimore, With twice a thousand head of sheep, They would not eat, they would not drink, But bleated o'er the deep. Inside the pens we crawled each day, To sort the living from the dead; And when we reached the Mersey's mouth, Had lost five hundred head. Yet every night and day one sheep, That had no fear of man or sea, Stuck through the bars its pleading face, And it was stroked by me. And to the sheep-men standing near, "You see," I said, "this one tame sheep? It seems a child has lost her pet, And cried herself to sleep." So every time we passed it by, Sailing to England's slaughter-house, Eight ragged sheep-men -- tramps and thieves -- Would stroke that sheep's black nose. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SITTING by CECIL DAY LEWIS A CHILD'S THOUGHT OF GOD by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING WHEN MY SHIP COMES IN by ROBERT JONES BURDETTE TO THE SOUTH ON ITS NEW SLAVERY by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR CRADLE SONG AT TWILIGHT by ALICE MEYNELL VITAI LAMPADA by HENRY JOHN NEWBOLT THE WET WASH by MARIANA BACHMAN HINTS OF AN HISTORICAL PLAY TO BE CALLED WILLIAM RUFUS by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM |