OUT of her darkened fishing-ports they go,
A fleet of little ships, whose every name –
Daffodil, Sea-lark, Rose
Bums in this blackness like an altar-flame;
Out of her past they sail, three thousand strong,
The people’s fleet that never knew its worth,
And every name is a broken phrase of song
To some remembered loveliness on earth.
Barbara Cowie, Comely Bank
Christened, at home, in worlds of dawn and dew :
(May that simple prayer come true!)
Out of old England’s inmost heart they sail,
A fleet of memories that can never fail.