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 Poncé de Léon,
 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, señor, 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.?