Pilgrim
The cold wind cries across the rolling dunes,
The gray sails fleck the margins of the world:
I watch the rolling dunes along the barren sky,
And wan, white waters by the swift wind hurled.
O where are Queen Faustina, and Babylon, and Tyre,
And pale Troy, lost in a silver mist of tears—
And I, O earth, your child, more old than all these others,
What have you done to me these many thousand years!
The gray sails fleck the margins of the world:
I watch the rolling dunes along the barren sky,
And wan, white waters by the swift wind hurled.
O where are Queen Faustina, and Babylon, and Tyre,
And pale Troy, lost in a silver mist of tears—
And I, O earth, your child, more old than all these others,
What have you done to me these many thousand years!
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