English poem
The Lost Ship
by Thomas Fleming Day (1861–1927)
Who saw the ship going down to the sea With her topsails sheeted home, and her spanker Swelling like a course, foam along the lee, And the crew on the tackle of the anchor?
Who saw her running off from the land, Wind blowing strong, steering true for the light-ship, But went away wishing he might command Some future day such a tall, such a tight ship?
Came she never back again to that port? Long did they wait, watching out at eve and morn. Last was she seen hove-to with canvas short By an eastward bounder scudding past the Horn.
Who saw her sink that midnight in the storm? Where does she lie, rig-tangled and hull-broken? Sails she, perhaps, a ghostly, gliding form, That silent sea where ships are never spoken?