The Return
(To E.W.)
Home, O most pale adventurer, are you bound
From that strange kingdom where no love may trace
The life it loves to its abiding place,
Or hail it from afar with cheerful sound.
From deeps whose marges mortal ne'er hath found
You steal, and we are awed before your face--
For you are weird with wonder, with the grace
Of death's most delicate lilies are you crowned.
After the ranging sunset of Farewell--
When life's loved country fades, and hope is lorn,
Is it not fair from that dim, tideless bourn
To drift back home to man's own star and dwell
Fondly with time, in tune with bud and bell,
With midnight's shimmer of stars and the sheen of morn?
Home, O most pale adventurer, are you bound
From that strange kingdom where no love may trace
The life it loves to its abiding place,
Or hail it from afar with cheerful sound.
From deeps whose marges mortal ne'er hath found
You steal, and we are awed before your face--
For you are weird with wonder, with the grace
Of death's most delicate lilies are you crowned.
After the ranging sunset of Farewell--
When life's loved country fades, and hope is lorn,
Is it not fair from that dim, tideless bourn
To drift back home to man's own star and dwell
Fondly with time, in tune with bud and bell,
With midnight's shimmer of stars and the sheen of morn?
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