Quickly now the black tide is ebbing.
Summer light foams from its hidden spring,
pale-pink-frothing over earth’s brink,
over cloud ranges whose peaks turn pink.
Morn tide in warm waking waves
ripples through countless windows,
laps the ships of sleep
where lie the sheeted voyagers
wanderlusting over the seven-sea’d,
four-cornered universe of their dreams.
Waves of light begin to break upon them.
Tossing from eyes the spray of wanderlust,
they drown their dreams
and venture forth, explorers
dreaming now, awake, of real discovery
upon the shore of unmapped country, day.