See You, Beneath Yon Cloud So Dark, Fast Gliding Along A Gloomy Bark? Her Sails Are Full,--Though The Wind Is Still, And There Blows Not A Breath Her Sails To Fill! Say, What Doth That Vessel Of Darkness Bear? The Silent Calm Of The Grave Is There, Save Now And Again A Death-Knell Rung, And The Flap Of The Sails With Night-Fog Hung. There Lieth A Wreck On The Dismal Shore Of Cold And Pitiless Labrador; Where, Under The Moon, Upon Mounts Of Frost, Full Many A Mariner'S Bones Are Tost. Yon Shadowy Bark Hath Been To That Wreck, And The Dim Blue Fire, That Lights Her Deck, Doth Play On As Pale And Livid A Crew, As Ever Yet Drank The Churchyard Dew. To Deadman'S Isle, In The Eye Of The Blast, To Deadman'S Isle, She Speeds Her Fast; By Skeleton Shapes Her Sails Are Furled, And The Hand That Steers Is Not Of This World! Oh! Hurry Thee On-Oh! Hurry Thee On, Thou Terrible Bark, Ere The Night Be Gone, Nor Let Morning Look On So Foul A Sight As Would Blanch For Ever Her Rosy Light!