Down Commercial Road (Gloucester)

When I was small and packed with tales of desert islands far
My mother took me walking in a grey ugly street,
But there the sea-wind met us with a jolly smell of tar,
A sailorman went past to town with slow rolling gait;
And Gloucester she’s famous in story.

The trees and shining sky of June were good enough to see,
Better than books or any tales the sailormen might tell--
But tops’le spars against the blue made fairyland for me;
The snorting tug made surges like the huge Atlantic swell.
And Gloucester she’s famous in story.

Then thought I, how much better to sail the open seas
Than sit in school at spelling-books or sums of grocers’ wares.
And I’d have knelt for pity at any captain’s knees
To go see the banyan tree or white Arctic bears.
And Gloucester she’s famous in story.

O Gloucester men about the world that dare the seas to-day,
Remember little boys at school a-studying their best
To hide somehow from Mother, and get clear away
To where the flag of England flies prouder than the rest.
And Gloucester she’s famous in story.