VI. Endeavor

No more we dare to hope, to love, to care,
After such loss, expecting ever worse.
Yet — when ships were wood and steel — we did stare
Out to the dark horizon, where the curse
And maker of our livelihoods, the sea,
Took often our dearest, and still we watched,
And hoped, and waited on the shore.
— Now, the
Vessel is never again to be watched
Without a pang of fear, no more the old
Undimmed glory, the loud exultant cry
Of triumph, seeing the blue sky enfold
Our paradoxical ship, ripping high
Through thinner air — as though to hold this time
From disaster, there, where we may not climb.