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III

The Middle Watch

In a blue dusk the ship asternUplifts her slender spars,With golden lights that seem to burnAmong the silver stars.Like fleets along a cloudy shoreThe constellations creep,Like planets on the ocean floorOur silent course we keep.
And over the endless plain,Out of the night forlornRises a faint refrain,A song of the day to be born—Watch, oh watch till ye find againLife and the land of morn.
From a dim West to a dark EastOur lines unwavering head,As if their motion long had ceasedAnd Time itself were dead.
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