" SHIP,—What is your name ? Where do you sail ?"

" The vessel Beauty, over foam-waste pale

Of future time proud moving, such am I."

" Some gale of magic wafting ever by

These tall masts and crimson canvas-surge,

Through rhythmic leagues of Art this dream prow urge ?'

" Under Eternity, that changeless dome,

Across wave-fret of centuries I roam :

Yet in times halcyon of some Golden Age

The hours held my likeness in their glassy page.