With favoring winds o'er sunlit seas,
We sailed for the Hesperides,
The land where the golden apples grow;
But that, ah that was long ago.
How far, since then, the ocean streams
Have swept us from that land of dreams,
The land of fiction and of truth,
The lost Atlantis of our youth.
Whither, ah whither? Are not these
The tempest-haunted Hebrides,
Where see-gulls scream, and breakers roar,
And wreck and see-weed line the shore.
Ultima Thule! Utmost Isle!
Here in thy harbors for a while
We lower our sails; a while we rest
From the unending endless quest.