Argonauts, by Madison Cawein

  With argosies of dawn he sails,
    And triremes of the dusk,
  The Seas of Song, whereon the gales
    Are myths that trail wild musk.

  He hears the hail of Siren bands
    From headlands sunset-kissed;
  The Lotus-eaters wave pale hands
    Within a land of mist.

  For many a league he hears the roar
    Of the Symplegades;
  And through the far foam of its shore
    The Isle of Sappho sees.

  All day he looks, with hazy lids,
    At gods who cleave the deep;
  All night he hears the Nereïds
    Sing their wild hearts asleep.

  When heaven thunders overhead,
    And hell upheaves the Vast,
  Dim faces of the ocean's dead
    Gaze at him from each mast.

  He but repeats the oracle
    That bade him first set sail;
  And cheers his soul with, "All is well!
    Go on! I will not fail."

  Behold! he sails no earthly bark
    And on no earthly sea,
  Who down the years into the dark,—
    Divine of destiny,—

  Holds to his purpose,—ships of Greece,—
    Ideal-steered afar,
  For whom awaits the Golden Fleece,
    The fame that is his star.