OH, TRAVELLER BY UNACCUSTOMED WAYS.
OH, traveller by unaccustomed ways—Searcher among new worlds for pleasures new— Art thou content because the skies are blue, And blithe birds thrill the air with roundelays, And the fair fields with sunshine are ablaze? Dost thou not find thy heart's-ease twined with rue, And long for some dear bloom on earth that grew— Some wild, sweet fragrance of remembered days?
I send my message to thee by the stars— Since other messenger I may not find Till I go forth beyond these prisoning bars, Leaving this memory-haunted world behind, To seek thee, claim thee, wheresoe'er thou be, Since Heaven itself were empty, lacking thee.