The Yach - Thomas Fleming Day
How like a queen she walks the summer sea;
Her canvas crowning well the comely mold
Light loved until it lifts a spire of gold
Outlined and inset by a tracery
Of rig and spar. Hers is a witchery
Of loveliness, that seems to draw and hold
The wind to do its bidding. Fold on fold
The seas charge in; then stricken by the free
Quick lancing of her stem recoil to break
Against the breeze; then rushing back they foam
Along the rail, and swirl into the wake,
And rave astern in many a wrinkled dome.
For thus she doth her windward way betake
Like one who lives to conquer and to roam.