  The Dream-ship minds no stormy gales, Her masts are all of gold, With splendor of wide silken sails, Red-rosy, fold on fold. They spread below, they spread aloft, They’re never reefed nor furled, And they will bear us safe and soft, The other side the world. We shall not see the shadow crew That work among the spars, But watch the topmast sailing through The shoals of shining stars. From point to point of silver light, Through purple gulfs and bays, As we below a-gliding go Along the water-ways. —Blanche M. Channing. |
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