Classic Poem

A ship, an isle, a sickle moon —
With few but with how splendid stars
The mirrors of the sea are strewn
Between their silver bars!

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

An isle beside an isle she lay,
The pale ship anchored in the bay,
While in the young moon's port of gold
A star-ship — as the mirrors told —
Put forth its great and lonely light
To the unreflecting Ocean, Night.
And still, a ship upon her seas,
The isle and the island cypresses
Went sailing on without the gale:
And still there moved the moon so pale,
A crescent ship without a sail!