Poetry Archives

Will he ever be weary of wandering,
  The flaming sun?
Ever weary of waning in lovelight,
  The white still moon?
Will ever a shepherd come
  With a crook of simple gold,
And lead all the little stars
  Like lambs to the fold?

Will ever the Wanderer sail
  From over the sea,
Up the river of water,
  To the stones to me?
Will he take us all into his ship,
  Dreaming, and waft us far,
To where in the clouds of the West,
  The Islands are?