The White Ship lifts the horizon--
The masts are shot with gold--
And I know by the shining canvas
The cargo in the hold.
And now they’ve warped and fastened her,
Where I impatient wait--
To find a hollow mockery,
Or a rank and rotted freight.
* * * * *
The Black Ship shows against the storm--
Her hull is low and lean--
And a flag of gore at the stern and fore,
And the skull and bones between.
I shun the wharf where she bears down
And her desperate crew make fast,
But manifold from the darkest hold
Come forth my dreams at last.
_The White Ships and the Black Ships
They loom across the sea--
But I may not know until they dock--
The wares they bring to me._