By a black wharf I stood lately, <br /> When the night was at its noon; <br />Keen, malicious stars were shining, <br /> And a wicked, white-faced moon. <br /> <br />And I saw a stately vessel, <br /> Built in fashion quaint and old; <br />From her masthead, in the moonlight, <br /> Hung a flag of faded gold. <br /> <br />Black with age her masts and spars were, <br /> Black with age her ropes and rails; <br />Like a ghost through cere-cloths gazing <br /> Shone the white moon through her sails. <br /> <br />Not a movement stirred the stillness, <br /> Not a sound the silence broke, <br />Save alone the livid water <br /> Lapping round her sides of oak. <br /> <br />Then to her unseen commander <br /> Spake I, as to one I knew— <br />“Don Juan Poncé de Léon, <br /> I have waited long for you. <br /> <br />“Take me with you, I implore you! <br /> Take me with you on your quest <br />For the Fount of Youth Eternal, <br /> For the Islands of the Blest.” <br /> <br />Then above the bulwarks ancient <br /> I beheld a head arise; <br />And the moon with ghastly glimmer <br /> Lit its sad and hollow eyes. <br /> <br />“Grieved am I, señor, and sorry,” <br /> Very courteously it said, <br />“That I may not take you with me— <br /> But I only take the Dead. <br /> <br />“These alone may dare the voyage, <br /> These alone sail on the quest <br />For the Fount of Youth Eternal, <br /> For the Islands of the Blest.”<br /><br />Victor James Daley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ponc-de-l-on/
