The five long ships on the horizon,

Hazy, now, in the light of dawn,

Ignite the strangest sort of longing within me,

This burning, this yearning,

To be going anywhere but here,

This desiderium

To be one of those long ships,

Further, now, then before;

Whence they are going, I know not,

Only that I, weary traveler,

Desperately want to sprout wings

And race them to their final port,

Wheresoever that might be.