"WHAT are you staring at, mariner-man, Wrinkled as sea-sand and old as the sea?" Those trains will run over their tails, if they can, Snorting and sporting like porpoises. Flee The burly, the whirligig wheels of the train, As round as the world and as large again, Running half the way over to Babylon, down Through fields of clover to gay Troy town -- A-puffing their smoke as grey as the curl On my forehead as wrinkled as sands of the sea! -- But what can that matter to you, my girl? (And what can that matter to me?)" |