While darkly against the burning sky Streamer and pennant floated high.
Steadily, silently, on they pressed Into the glowing, reddening west;
Until, on the far horizon’s fold, They slowly passed through its gate of gold.
You think, perhaps, they were nothing more Than schooners laden with common ore?
Where Care clasped hands with grimy Toil, And the decks were stained with earthly moil?
Oh, beautiful ships, that sailed that night Into the west from our yearning sight,
Full well I know that the freight ye bore Was laden not for an earthly shore!
To some far realm ye were sailing on, Where all we have lost shall yet be won;
Ye were bearing thither a world of dreams, Bright as that sunset’s golden gleams;
And hopes whose tremulous, rosy flush, Grew fairer still in the twilight hush.