Poncé De Léon

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