1 Or ever the battered liners sank With their passengers to the dark, I was head of a Walworth Bank, And you were a grocer's clerk. 2 I was a dealer in stocks and shares, And you in butters and teas; And we both abandoned our own affairs And took to the dreadful seas. 3 Wet and worry about our ways– Panic, onset and flight– Had us in charge for a thousand days And thousand-year-long night. 4 We saw more than the nights could hide– More than the waves could keep– And–certain faces over the side Which do not go from our sleep. 5 We were more tired than words can tell While the pied craft fled by, And the swinging mounds of the Western swell Hoisted us Heavens-high . . . 6 Now there is nothing–not even our rank– To witness what we have been; And I am returned to my Walworth Bank, And you to your margarine!
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