I often see when the nights are long
and the mists are on a breeze
a stately ship that sails above
the nodding tops of treess.
Drifting slow to meet the foams
and sprays of a darkling sea,
it's a wonder it doesn't get wrecked.
Will it ever be?
This silver ship's a wonder,
as it has always been.
But more has been the wonder
For the Pilot's never seen.