WANDERER
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I
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WANDERER,
wanderer, whither away?
What saith the morning
unto thee?
"Wanderer, wanderer, hither, come hither,
Into the eld of the
East with me!"
Saith the wide wind of the low red morning,
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Making
in from the gray rough sea.
"Wanderer, come, of the footfall weary,
And heavy at heart
as the sad-heart sea.
"For long ago, when the world was making,
I walked through
Eden with God for guide;
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And
since that time in my heart forever
His calm and wisdom
and peace abide.
"I
am thy spirit and thy familiar,
Child of the teeming
earth’s unrest!
Before God’s joy upon gloom begot thee, |
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| I
had hungered and searched and ended the quest.
"I sit by the roadside wells of knowledge;
I haunt the streams
of the springs of thought;
But because my voice is the voice of silence,
The heart within
thee regardeth not.
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"Yet I await thee, assured, unimpatient,
Till thy small tumult
of striving be past.
How long, O wanderer, with thou a-weary,
Keep thee afar from
my arms at the last?" |
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II
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| Wanderer,
wanderer, whither away? |
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What
saith the high noon unto thee?
"Wanderer, wanderer, hither, turn hither
Far to the burning
South with me,"
Saith the soft wind on the high June headland,
Sheering up from
the summer sea,
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"While
the implacable warder, Oblivion,
Sleeps on the marge
of a foamless sea!
"Come where the urge of desire availeth,
And no fear follows
the feet of the rain;
For a handful of dust is the only heirloom
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| The
morrow bequeaths to its morrow again.
"Touch and feel how the flesh is perfect
Beyond the compass
of dream to be!
‘Bone of my bone,’ said God to Adam;
‘Core of my
core,’ say I to thee.
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"Look and see how the form is goodly
Beyond the reach of
desire and art!
For he who fashioned the world so easily
Laughed in his sleeve
as he walked apart.
"Therefore, O wanderer, cease from desiring;
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Take
the wide province of seaway and sun!
Here for the infinite quench of thy craving,
Infinite yearning
and bliss are one." |
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III
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Wanderer,
wanderer, whither away?
What saith the evening
unto thee? |
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"Wanderer,
wanderer, hither, haste hither,
Into the glad-heart
West with me!"
Saith the strong wind of the gold-green twilight,
Gathering out of
the autumn hills,
"I am the word of the world’s first
dreamer
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| Who
woke when Freedom walked on the hills.
"And the secret triumph from daring to doing,
From musing to marble,
I will be,
Till the last fine fleck of the world is finished,
And Freedom shall
walk alone by the sea.
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"Who is thy heart’s lord, who is thy
hero?
Bruce or Cæsar
or Charlemagne,
Hannibal, Olaf, Alaric, Roland?
Dare as they dared
and the deed’s done again!
"Here where they come of the habit immortal,
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By
the open road to the land of the Name,
Splendor and homage and wealth await thee
Of builded cities
and bruited fame.
"Let loose the conquering toiler within
thee;
Know the large rapture
of deeds begun!
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The
joy of the hand that hews for beauty
Is the dearest solace
beneath the sun." |
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IV
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Wanderer,
wanderer, whither away?
What saith the midnight
unto thee?
"Wanderer, wanderer, hither turn home, |
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| Back
to thy North at last to me!"
Saith the great forest wind and lonely,
Out of the stars
and the wintry hills.
"Weary, bethink thee of rest, and remember
Thy waiting auroral
Ardise hills!
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"Was it not I, when thy mother bore thee
In the sweet, solemn
April night,
Took thee safe in my arms to fondle,
Filled thy dream with
the old delight?
"Told thee tales of more marvelous summers
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Of
the far away and the long ago,
Made thee my own nurse-child forever
In the tender dear
dark land of the snow?
"Have I not rocked thee, have I not lulled
thee,
Crooned thee in
forest, and cradled in foam,
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Then
with a smile from the hearthstone of childhood
Bade thee farewell
when thy heart bade thee roam?
"Ah, my wide-wanderer, thou blessed vagrant,
Dear will thy footfall
be nearing my door.
How the glad tears will give vent at thy coming,
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| Wayward
or sad-heart to wander no more!" |
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V
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Morning
and midday I wander, and evening,
April and harvest
and golden fall;
Seaway and hillward, taut sheet or saddle-bow,
Only the night wind
brings solace at all. |
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Then when the tide of all being and beauty
Ebbs to the utmost
before the first dawn,
Comes the still voice of the morrow revealing
Inscrutable valorous
hope—and is gone.
Therefore is joy more than sorrow, foreseeing
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The
lust of the mind and the lure of the eye
And the pride of the hand have their hour of triumph,
But the dream of the
heart will endure by-and-by. |
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