The silent ships of memory creep
Across the seas of long ago;
Like phantoms, on a tideless deep,
Their pale prows wander to and fro.
Some bear the dreams of happy years
Or bring a cargo all of gold;
Some bear a freight of useless tears,
For love and sorrow long untold.
And each man takes the proffered dower
For golden grain or bitter loss;
O, happy he that hath the power
To take the gold and leave the dross.