The Song of the West-Wanderer

I will not cease from wandering,

Nor shall my feet know rest,

For the land is wide,

And the seas are wide,

And my path lies ever West.

 

Westward to the shadowlands,

Yea, Westward into night,

For in the West the sun goes down,

And panoply of stars look down,

From out the darkling height.

 

A pall of purple roofs my road,

As West I tread anon,

But the moon is bright,

And the sea is bright,

And my footfall echoes on.

 

I wander on beyond the shade,

Till dawn is on my face,

For eastward rides the rising sun,

Yea, eastward burns the living sun,

And daylight spurs my pace.

 

A land alive with sounds is there,

With wind and chorus cries,

Their rising voices call to me,

And many hymns they sing to me,

Beneath the waking skies.

 

Shall I go on forever now?

Or shall I take my ease?

For the land rides on,

And the sea rides on,

But I long for friendly trees.

 

For trees that I love walk the woods,

Along an English lane,

Boughs of eldest memory,

Still silent in their memory,

Of Saxon, Celt and Dane.

 

In secret lands I slow my step,

Beside the shallow stream,

For the sky is young,

And the earth is young,

As in a waking dream.

 

But the song of the road is calling me,

To tread the West again,

In dusky lands,

And starry lands,

Upon a moonlit plain.

 

Nay, I will not cease from wandering,

Nor shall my feet know rest,

For the land is wide,

And the seas are wide,

And my path lies ever West.

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