The Poet
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hat instinct forces man to journey on,Urged by a longing blind but dominant!Nothing he sees can hold him, nothing dauntHis never failing eagerness. The sunSetting in splendour every night has wonHis vassalage; those towers flamboyantOf airy cloudland palaces now hauntHis daylight wanderings. Forever doneWith simple joys and quiet happinessHe guards the vision of the sunset sky;Though faint with weariness he must possessSome fragment of the sunset's majesty;He spurns life's human friendships to professLife's loneliness of dreaming ecstasy.
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