When The Mist Drives Past And The Wind Blows High, And The Harbour Lights Are Dim - See Where They Circle, And Dip And Fly, The Grey Free-Lances Of Wind And Sky, To The Water'S Distant Rim! Like Spirits Possessed Of A Fierce Delight, A Courage That Cannot Fail, They Face The Breakers - They Face The Night - The Mad Storm-Horses Are Silvery White, They Ride Through The Bitter Gale! They Seem Like The Souls Of The Long, Long Lost, Who Breasted The Ocean-Main - Vikings Whose Vessels Were Tempest-Tossed, Voyagers Who Sailed, Whatever The Cost, And Never Came Home Again. Or Stranger And Wilder Fancy - It Seems As I Hear Their Wind-Torn Cry, No Birds Fly There Through The Sun'S Last Gleams, But The Wraiths Of Hopes - The Ghosts Of Dreams That The Old Sea-Gods Saw Die. When The Mist Drives Past And The Wind Blows High, And The Harbour Lights Are Dim - See Where They Circle, And Dip And Fly, The Grey Free-Lances Of Wind And Sky, To The Far Horizon'S Rim.