I took a trip on golden wind
where light was broad and darkness thinned,
upon a ship with rubied sail,
and bugle call that did not fail.
We arced triumphant over the main,
the captain and I, in stout refrain.
We crew delighted at airy spume,
the fluffiness of snow-white plume.
We plied our hands, the sail was filled,
and mirth across the poop-deck spilled.
A journey full we danced and sang,
a journey full the bugles rang.
We thanked the gentle winds below,
and kindly waves of wintry snow,
and I hugged close the shining boards,
drank in the lullaby of slumbrous chords,
and woke amid familiar sands,
the whitened hills of feathery lands,
thankful indeed for ship and crew,
the ship that sang, the ship that flew.