“Far, far out lie the white sails all at rest; Like spectral arms they seem to touch and cling Unto the wide horizon. Not a wing Of truant bird glides down the purpling west; No breeze dares to intrude, e’en on a quest To fan a lover’s brow; the waves to sing Have quite forgotten till the deep shall fling A bow across its vibrant chords. Then, lest One moment of the sea’s repose we lose, Nor furnish Fancy with a thousand themes Of unimagined sweetness, let us gaze On this serenity, for as we muse, Lo! all is restless motion: life’s best dreams Give changing moods to even halcyon days.”