Voyager

for Asphodel

Who knows this boat of mine, how strong, how frail?
Its way is on the deep, the terrible hills,
its path is of the lost. And still I sail.

Its path is of the blessed. The driven nail
of light attends it; and the darkness thrills.
Who knows this boat of mine, how strong, how frail?

In ice, in fire its outline will not fail.
Who knows the wind? It scorches and it chills,
its path is of the lost. And still I sail.

In deathliest calm, no other boat to hail,
it waits its course. At last the slight sail fills.
Who knows this boat of mine, how strong, how frail?

Into the sun’s track, down a molten trail
an instant long, to where the blackness spills,
its path is of the lost. And still I sail.

If a god boards, it is to no avail.
Now may the Goddess steer it as She wills.
Who knows this boat of mine, how strong, how frail?
Its path is of the lost. And still I sail.