I made my masts of wild sea-rush
That grew on a secret shore,
And the scarlet plume of the halcyon
Was the pleasant flag I bore.
For my sails I took the butterfly's wings.,
For my ropes the spider's line;
And that mariner old, the Nautilus,
To steer me over the brine.
For he had sailed six thousand years,
And knew each isle and bay;