I paddle down the Milky Way
Where phospher sky weeds gleam and spray,
And pluck what starry branches grow
Along its winding overflow.
I swing my shallop out mid dream
Where tides of summer evening stream;
And carried on this sound so wide,
Still on and on and on I glide,
Harking, along the Western bar
The bell buoy of a swinging star.
My meteor anchor will, I ween,
Hold in this dark of depth unseen;
The dew, my silver lead and line
Doth sound me shallows of star shine;
And now and then I reef the veil
Of fog that serves me for a sail.
When, bold, I make the Western lee,
Old pilot shadows signal me;
And tacking windward come a fleet
Of clouds, with ghostly spar and sheet.