From The Arthur Conan Doyle Encyclopedia
- in Songs of the Road (16 march 1911, Smith, Elder & Co. [UK])
- in Songs of the Road (october 1911, Doubleday, Page & Co. [US])
- in Songs of the Road (27 january 1920, John Murray [UK])
- in Songs of the Road (february 1920, John Murray [UK])
- in The Poems of Arthur Conan Doyle (21 september 1922, John Murray [UK])
- in The Poems of Arthur Conan Doyle (14 september 1928, John Murray's Fiction Library [UK])
Breathing the stale and stuffy air
Of office or consulting room,
Our thoughts will wander back to where
We heard the low Atlantic boom,
And, creaming underneath our screw,
We watched the swirling waters break,
Silver filagrees on blue
Spreading fan-wise in our wake.
Cribbed within the city's fold,
Fettered to our daily round,
We'll conjure up the haze of gold
Which ringed the wide horizon round.
And still we'll break the sordid day
By fleeting visions far and fair,
The silver shield of Vigo Bay,
The long brown cliff of Finisterre.
Where once the Roman galley sped,
Or Moorish corsair spread his sail,
By wooded shore, or sunlit head,
By barren hill or sea-washed vale
We took our way. But we can swear,
That many countries we have scanned,
But never one that could compare
With our own island mother-land.
The dream is o'er. No more we view
The shores of Christian or of Turk,
But turning to our tasks anew,
We bend us to our wonted work.
But there will come to you and me
Some glimpse of spacious days gone by,
The wide, wide stretches of the sea,
The mighty curtain of the sky,