We had no stars to shine our curved prows hither,
Nor had we moons to guide us fearlessly,
Only the age-long yearnings of the river
Bruised by steep banks and aching for the sea;
Rivers whose tides grow tired of earthly lilies,
Too full of splendour to last so long as we,
Rivers whose length-long craving and strong will is
Once to see space, and then to cease to be.
Hither we journeyed sunset-ways by water,
I in my phantom keel of Poesy,