Those that of late had fleeted far and fast To touch all shores, now leaving to the skill Of others their old craft seaworthy still, Have charter’d this; where, mindful of the past, Our true co-mates regather round the mast; Of diverse tongue, but with a common will Here, in this roaring moon of daffodil And crocus, to put forth and brave the blast; For some, descending from the sacred peak Of hoar high-templed Faith, have leagued again Their lot with ours to rove the world about; And some are wilder comrades, sworn to seek If any golden harbour be for men In seas of Death and sunless gulfs of Doubt.
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