Great Middle Sea, home of restless wave and fire
Between three continents, whose constant urge
To close together in a rocky vice
And swallow down your content in a gulp,
Will never cease until the time has come
When all the lineaments you own have gone.
What are the the elements that give you shape?
Two basins split by one long leg of land,
Two far peninsulas at either end
And, all around and in between reserved,
The vital bounty of your watery wealth
Whose final confine is the quickened shore
Of Africa, advancing as a wall.
And other walls, great Sea, your shores and
Litorals have borne, indeed, which shaped
Your human past and nurtured in their shelter
Mighty movements round the globe -
Far flung from your abode, and yet your brood -
The walls of cities destined to provide
Each its heritage to humankind.
And now these cities, antique or more new,
Themselves, instead, are turned to cynosure.
The fleets that once upanchored from their gates
To destinations new, in truth unknown,
Have been replaced by countless pleasure craft
From distant points, carriages of eager
Voyagers, intending now to make their own
Acquaintance on the spot with what they know
Has fashioned in large part their own domains.
And, in this interchange of past and now,
Participants who ventured forth avow
Commitment to the provenance they share,
And carry back a treasured memory
To leaven recollection's waning sway.
Within the shared embrace of culture's trace
The passengers all vary in their state:
Some journey to fulfil a lifetime's dream,
Or to please a partner, or to mend a seam,
While some, a goodly portion, full of hope,
Nurse tender notions of romantic scope.
And, when the cruise ship docks, all such depart
Upon an exploration of the heart.
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