Classic Poem

Cabo Tormentoso the sailors called it first,
And Stormy Cape all mariners shall find it evermore.
The passion of the hurricane on its iron rocks is nursed,
Veering winds of huge desire that thwart the plunging barque.
Pale witch-fires glisten on the wave and beacon from the shore,
And shipwrecked voices bid beware of gramarye accurst.
Cape of Good Hope! We seek it far across the waters dark,
But Cabo Tormentoso the sailors named it first.

By this wild cape the mariners go to their spicerie,
Weather-wasted mariners with dreaming, dreaming eyes.
Behind them toss the sullen leagues of monster-haunted sea;
Before them, oh, before them lift the breathing groves of mace,
Nard and clove and cinnamon, where fragrance never dies,
Where amber balsam drips from the flame-shaped Incense Tree.
Cape of Good Hope! Year in, year out, the reckless sailor-race
Throw scorn upon your tempests for a waft of spicerie.