To the end of the trail / Richard Hovey [electronic text]

[ant. (antistrophe) α.

Not unto me, not unto me, fair Lady — I dare not let the sacred leaves be bound About my brow. My song is all unready So soon to seek so greatly to be crowned. I would go find some sager singer — sure, There are wise poets somewhere in the world — And yield the wreath to him. My song-flight yet is but insecure, The blooms of my rose-tree scarce uncurled, The blush of the blossoming faint and dim.

Ah, but I may not resign so the high crown Nor to another deliver its dear weight. Thou hast bound my brow with it, mine — crowned me in state — Set me above Time's frown. Not I may undo the deed Wrought by thee royally, Queen in thy right and the love of thy lord! Let me then loyally Kneel in my need And pray that Apollo Breathe wisdom into the word That my lips shall deliver. So shall my song fly swift as the swallow To greet thee with its perfected endeavor, Saying; "My lord that wrought me, sends me theeward, The late fulfilment of the labor thou Didst bind upon his youth." As sea-gulls turn their singing flight to seaward, I turn me to the mighty sea of song, Guiding the glad swerve of the prow Of my light boat of melody down long Sea-ways of beauty, freedom, truth, Eastward where Day shall bare his rosy brow.