Was not as are the boats of the other dead,
Frail craft for a light passage;
But first of a long line of towering ships,
Storm-worn and Ocean-weary every one,
The ships you launched, the ships you manned, the ships
That now, returning from their sacred quest
With the thrice-sacred burden of their dead,
Lay waiting there to take you forth with them,
Out on the flood-tide, to some farther quest.