The speaker describes a fragile dawn scene over the sea, where tiny ships from Arcady—a legendary land of peace and beauty—move through a faint, lace-like mist. He hears the sailors singing from the distant blue edge of the water, and watches the ships pass one by one where the moon touches the waves. They slip away with gentle morning winds behind them, and when they are gone, he is left staring across the empty water, still dreaming of that ideal place but now alone in the mist.
The mood is hushed and wistful, poised between sleeping and waking. There is a sense of longing in the speaker’s voice: he has seen something lovely and otherworldly, but he can only watch it leave. The repeated image of filigree makes everything feel delicate, half-real, and slightly mournful, like a beautiful vision fading at daybreak.