When little lights in little ports come out, <br />Quivering down through water with the stars, <br />And all the fishing fleet of slender spars <br />Range at their moorings, veer with tide about; <br /> <br />When race of wind is stilled and sails are furled, <br />And underneath our single riding-light <br />The curve of black-ribbed deck gleams palely white, <br />And slumbrous waters pool a slumbrous world; <br /> <br />--Then, and then only, have I thought how sweet <br />Old age might sink upon a windy youth, <br />Quiet beneath the riding-light of truth, <br />Weathered through storms, and gracious in retreat.<br /><br />Victoria Sackville-West<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/evening-37/
