But the true voyagers are they who part From all they love because a wandering heart Drives them to fly the Fate they cannot fly; Whose call is ever "On!"--they know not why.
Their thoughts are like the clouds that veil a star; They dream of change as warriors dream of war; And strange wild wishes never twice the same: Desires no mortal man can give a name.
We are like whirling tops and rolling balls-- For even when the sleepy night-time falls, Old Curiosity still thrusts us on, Like the cruel Angel who goads forth the sun.
The end of fate fades ever through the air, And, being nowhere, may be anywhere Where a man runs, hope waking in his breast, For ever like a madman, seeking rest.
Our souls are wandering ships outwearied; And one upon the bridge asks: "What's ahead?" The topman's voice with an exultant sound Cries: "Love and Glory!"--then we run aground.
Each isle the pilot signals when 'tis late, Is El Dorado, promised us by fate-- Imagination, spite of her belief, Finds, in the light of dawn, a barren reef.
Oh the poor seeker after lands that flee! Shall we not bind and cast into the sea This drunken sailor whose ecstatic mood Makes bitterer still the water's weary flood?
Such is an old tramp wandering in the mire, Dreaming the paradise of his own desire, Discovering cities of enchanted sleep Where'er the light shines on a rubbish heap.
Strange voyagers, what tales of noble deeds Deep in your dim sea-weary eyes one reads! Open the casket where your memories are, And show each jewel, fashioned from a star;
For I would travel without sail or wind, And so, to lift the sorrow from my mind, Let your long memories of sea-days far fled Pass o'er my spirit like a sail outspread.
"We have seen waves and stars, And lost sea-beaches, and known many wars, And notwithstanding war and hope and fear, We were as weary there as we are here.
"The lights that on the violet sea poured down, The suns that set behind some far-off town, Lit in our hearts the unquiet wish to fly Deep in the glimmering distance of the sky;
"The loveliest countries that rich cities bless, Never contained the strange wild loveliness By fate and chance shaped from the floating cloud-- And we were always sorrowful and proud!