The Navigators

I saw the bodies of earth's men
Like wharves thrust in the stream of time
Whereon cramped navigators climb
And free themselves in the warm sun:

With outflung arms and shouts of joy
Those spirits tramped their human planks;
Then pressing close, reforming ranks,
They pushed off in the stream again:

Cold darkly rotting lay the wharves,
Decaying in the stream of time;
Slow winding silver tracks of slime
Showed bright where came back none.