Here's the update for my arrangement of this poem. It's still pretty close to what I've posted above with a few more word changes but most importantly the melody has become more complex and spooky, as seems appropriate (copy and paste into WORD/TIMES/12 to line up chords):

Original words by Cicely Fox Smith © 1920
In SMALL CRAFT, pp. 91-95
Adapted by Charles Ipcar, ©2005
Tune: Charles Ipcar ©2005
Key: Am (2/Gm)

THE OLD FIDDLE

G-Am----------------------------------------Dm------C--Dm
By Chinese Charley's junk-store, by the Panama Sa-loon,
--------Am----------------------------------Dm--------------C----Dm
Where 'longshore loafers lean and spit, morning, night, and noon, –
----Am--------------------------------------Dm------------C-Dm
All among the keys without a lock, and locks without a key,
----Am-------------C-----------------G----------------Em
The old boss-eyed binoculars and sextants on the spree;
------Am-----------------------------------Dm------------C--Dm
New Brummagem and old Bombay, a-tumbling side by side,
--Am-----------------------------------Dm---------C---Dm
A brown bald-headed idol and an "Extra Mas-ter's Guide," –
Am----------------------------------Dm-------C---Dm
Mouldy, musty, dull and dusty, broken on the shelf,
--Am------------------C---------------G----------Em
I thought I heard the sailor's fiddle singing to it-self.

Dm--------------------------------Am-----------C---Am
Singing in a queer old quaver, shaky, shrill, and sad,
---------G------------------Em---------------------Am---------G-Am
Like an old man singing songs he knew when he was just a lad,
Dm---------------------------------------Am--------C---Am
Singing of them good old times that all too fast did fly,
-----------G----------------------Em---------------Am--------------G----Am
When the world was so much younger. in the years that have gone by.

There were scraps of dead old choruses and snatches of old tunes,
We surely knew in other worlds and under other moons;
There was singing on the fo'c's'le, with a sky so full of stars,
And bits o' tipsy shouting out of gaudy, glary bars;
Little tunes on Chinese fiddles up some curving narrow street
Full of dinky Chinee houses, where the East and West do meet;
"Ranzo, Ranzo, Reuben Ranzo" – came the sound to me
Of a chantey chorus roaring 'bove the roaring of the sea.

Was it only seagulls piping, faint and far away,
In their rows along the freight-sheds where they hang about all day, -
Mewing round the back cove, where the tugboats lie –
Or a song we sang together in the years that have gone by?

There were ships that once I sailed on, ships both great and small,
Some were good, some were bad, but, Lord, I loved 'em all;
There were rusty-red old hookers, going plugging round the world,
And Clyde-built China clippers with their splendid wings unfurled;
And all the winds of all the seas came swirling down the street,
With its smell of beer and harbour-mud, and tread of weary feet,
Till I heard the stormy westerlies go thrashing through the sails,
And the Trades' low whining humming, and them Bay of Biscay gales.

Was I waking, was I sleeping, where did the wild wind go,
Thrumming in the slender tops of ships I used to know,
With the deep-sea glory on them, all against a sunset sky,
On the tide o' dreams a-sailing, from the years that have gone by?

There were faces long forgotten, friends both false and true,
That I'd sailed with once and lost again, the way that sailors do;
There were folks I loved and lost, with faces all a-shine,
Came and walked a while beside me, with their hand in mine;
Are you dead or living, comrade, near or far away?
Do you ever think of me, lad, your friend upon a day?
Late or soon, night or noon, you and I will meet,
All the seas and years behind us, strolling down this street.

Was it but the rippling tide, that by the wharf did flow, -
Or the footsteps of a comrade, from many years ago?
Did I hear the waves lap-laping, did I hear the sea wind sigh, -
Or the voices of my shipmates, from the years that have gone by?

By Chinese Charley's junk-store, by the Panama Saloon,
I walked and talked with shadows there, in all the glare of noon,
Among the keys without a lock, and locks without a key,
The old boss-eyed binoculars, and sextants on the spree;
New Brummagem and old Bombay a-tumbling side by side,
A brown bald-headed idol and an "Extra Master's Guide," -
Mouldy, musty, dull and dusty, broken on the shelf,
I thought I heard the sailor's fiddle singing to itself.

Yes, singing in a queer old quaver, shaky, shrill, and sad,
Like an old man singing songs he knew when he was just a lad,
Singing of them good old times that all too fast did fly,
When the world was so much younger, in the years that have gone by. (2X)

Notes:

"Boss-eyed" is an archaic word for cross-eyed or wall-eyed (not sure how something can be both)

"Brummagem" is the old name for Birmingham and here means newer shoddy goods, while the reference to "Bombay" may imply older exotic goods

Cheerily,
Charley Noble