A long lean bar of silver spans
The ebon-rippled water-way,
And like a lost moon's errant ray
Strikes on the passing caravans—
Ghost-ships that from the desert seas
Loom silent through the steady beams,
Pale phantoms of clusive dreams
Cargoed with ancient memories.
Through the long night across the cool
Black waters to their shrouded berth,
Bearing the treasures of the earth,
Glide the fair ships to Liverpool.