Her bow a leaping grace where beauty sports.
Keen as a hawk above the water line
Though full below it: an elliptic stern:
Her attitude a racer’s, stripped and fine,
Tense to be rushing under spires that yearn.
She crosses a main skysail: her jibboom
Is one steel spike: her mainsail has a spread
Of eighty-seven feet, earring to earring.
Her wind is a fresh gale, her joy careering
Some two points free before it, nought ahead