Jillian_Anka Posted April 3, 2013 The Winged Mariners. Through the wild night, the silence and the dark, Through league on league of the uncharted sky, Lonelier than dove of fable from its ark, The fieldfares fly. Mate with his tiny mate, and younglings frail, That only knew the crevice of their tree Until, in faith stupendous, they set sail Across the sea. The black North Sea, that takes such savage toll Of ships and men--and yet could not appal These little mariners, who seek their goal Beyond it all. Turning those soft, indomitable breasts To meet the unchained Titans of the deep-- Calm, as if cradled in Norwegian nests, Their course they keep. No more than thistledown or flake of snow To those great gods at play, they win the game; Never sped archer's arrow from his bow With surer aim. Still tossed and scattered, their unwinking eyes Point to that pole unseen where wanderings cease; Still on they press, and warble to the skies With hearts at peace.