By A Black Wharf I Stood Lately, When The Night Was At Its Noon; Keen, Malicious Stars Were Shining, And A Wicked, White-Faced Moon. And I Saw A Stately Vessel, Built In Fashion Quaint And Old; From Her Masthead, In The Moonlight, Hung A Flag Of Faded Gold. Black With Age Her Masts And Spars Were, Black With Age Her Ropes And Rails; Like A Ghost Through Cere-Cloths Gazing Shone The White Moon Through Her Sails. Not A Movement Stirred The Stillness, Not A Sound The Silence Broke, Save Alone The Livid Water Lapping Round Her Sides Of Oak. Then To Her Unseen Commander Spake I, As To One I Knew, 'Don Juan Ponc' De L'On, I Have Waited Long For You. 'Take Me With You, I Implore You! Take Me With You On Your Quest For The Fount Of Youth Eternal, For The Islands Of The Blest.' Then Above The Bulwarks Ancient I Beheld A Head Arise; And The Moon With Ghastly Glimmer Lit Its Sad And Hollow Eyes. 'Grieved Am I, Se'Or, And Sorry,' Very Courteously It Said, 'That I May Not Take You With Me, But I Only Take The Dead. 'These Alone May Dare The Voyage, These Alone Sail On The Quest For The Fount Of Youth Eternal, For The Islands Of The Blest.'