From what far wonderland of dreams,
What island of remotest seas,
O Golden Galleon, sailest thou
With white wings on the breeze?
Thou stately splendor, pressing on
From mystic East to radiant West,
On what proud errand art thou bent—
What high, mysterious quest?
The great sea bears thee up; the waves
With slow upheaval lift thy bow;
With long and steady sweep they glide
Under thy gleaming prow.
Thy slender masts, like spires of jet,
Are black against the reddening sky;
Thy sails are full—yet idly droops
Yon pennant lifted high.
All silently thou speedest on;
No sailor climbs thy shining spars;
Thy carven saints alone keep ward
Beneath or sun or stars!
O Golden Galleon, well we know
Thou hast no freight of earthly mould;
No Orient treasures dost thou bear,
No red gold lights thy hold!
Thou art but freighted with our dreams!
Sail on, O blessèd ship, sail on,
To some far land where dreams come true,
And all that’s lost is won!