I
To H. B. M. W.
WHERE forlorn sunsets flare and fadeOn desolate sea and lonely sand,Out of the silence and the shadeWhat is the voice of strange commandCalling you still, as friend calls friendWith love that cannot brook delay,To rise and follow the ways that wendOver the hills and far away?
Hark in the city, street on streetA roaring reach of death and life,Of vortices that clash and fleetAnd ruin in appointed strife,Hark to it calling, calling clear,Calling until you cannot stayFrom dearer things than your own most dearOver the hills and far away.
Out of the sound of the ebb-and-flow,Out of the sight of lamp and star,It calls you where the good winds blow,And the unchanging meadows are:From faded hopes and hopes agleam,It calls you, calls you night and dayBeyond the dark into the dreamOver the hills and far away