I SIT in sorrow by the watery gates,
A questioning the Fates.

I ask: " What manner of strange ships are these
Slipping adown the seas?

" Slipping adown the slanting seas — what sail
Is yonder — calm and pale? "

Then the Fates answer me: " That goodly bark
Braving the waters dark

" So fearlessly — the cross upon her mast —
Is Trust , come home at last.

" Yon quivering craft that veers and puts about,
Is the long-cruising Doubt .

" This dancing galley that the waters mock,
Shall strike upon the rock;

" 'Tis Chance , a pleasure yacht; her ribs shall bleach
Upon the blistering beach. "

Yet still I see a flamelike, shining cloud,
And eager cry aloud:

" That other sail that waits upon the wind —
What is her name and kind? "

To me the Fates: " Though lying still and wan
She shall approach anon;

" So nobly manned — with any gale to cope —
Behold the trusty Hope . "

" Quicken the winds, I pray you, worthy Fates,
In her are stored my freights!

" Nor am I fit for life of any sort,
Till she shall reach the port. "