Classic Poem

Now fades the last long reach of land
And merges in the distant blue;
The low pine woods, the spit of sand,
Are naught. The light-house, too,

Far, far to sternward drifts away;
The toil and stir of finite things,
And friends and scenes of yesterday,
Are with the eddies and the rings.

This atom ship goes forth alone:
Leave thou the stern and find the bow;
Over the surge's monotone
Bideth a future in the now.

The infinite rings the world around,
And he that knows one goal, is blest;
Her certain path the ship hath found, —
Bold friend, be thine as straight a quest.