The sunset's roses faint and fain decline. Inshore the still sea shimmers scale on scale, Like an enormous coat of magic mail — Sheet silver shot with tremulous opaline.

That is a lot of ship, about the size of big tankers before they grew so rapidly to become supers, mammoths and oilbergs.

Nothing seems more natural than to approach confirmability via confirmation.

Fair maiden, white and red, Comb me smooth and stroke my head, And though shalt have some cockle-bread.