Poem by Alice Meynell

The Launch

Forth, to the alien gravity,
Forth, to the laws of ocean, we
    Builders on earth by laws of land
    Entrust this creature of our hand
Upon the calculated sea.

Fast bound to shore we cling, we creep,
And make our ship ready to leap
    Light to the flood, equipped to ride
    The strange conditions of the tide—
New weight, new force, new world: the Deep.

Ah thus—not thus—the Dying, kissed,
Cherished, exhorted, shriven, dismissed;
    By all the eager means we hold
    We, warm, prepare him for the cold,
To keep the incalculable tryst.

1. Spring on the Alban Hills
2. Summer in England, 1914
3. The Two Questions
4. The October Redbreast
5. The Watershed (for R. T.)

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