Last night I walked about this ship
Whose passengers we are,
And contemplated the quiet trip
And the horizon, stretched afar.
As I gazed outward from ship’s stern,
I broke the silence with a shout;
But when the stillness did return,
My solitude was not in doubt.
A cold, dank wind spit in my face,
So I huddled against the railing
With eyes cast downward toward the trace
Which the ship had long been trailing.
How distinctly I could hear
The lapping of the waves below,
And then inside of me a fear
Began to grow . . . to grow and grow.
Suppose I slipped into that sea
Which was indifferent to my shout,
Would anyone on board hear me
And throw a line and get me out?
Or would that wave that laps below
Simply lap on me instead,
And soon become a chilling foe
That breaks upon my bobbing head?
To the railing I clung tightly,
And my fears began to wane;
‘Til finally I could take them lightly,
And relax my grip again.
I retired to my cabin,
Closing the door on my alarm,
Pondering what a joy to have been
Spared of all that cold, damp harm.
What could have made me panic
On the safest ship afloat?
You do agree that this Titanic
Is no ordinary boat.