OUT of her darkened fishing-ports they go,

A fleet of little ships, whose every name—

Daffodil, Sea-lark, Rose and Surf and Snow,

Burns in this blackness like an altar-flame;

Out of her past they sail, three thousand strong,

The people's fleet that never knew its worth,

And every name is a broken phrase of song

To some remembered loveliness on earth.

There's Barbara Cowie, Comely Bank and May,

Christened, at home, in worlds of dawn and dew:

There's Ruth and Kindly Light and Robin Gray

With Mizpah. (May that simple prayer come true!)

Out of old England's inmost heart they sail,

A fleet of memories that can never fail.