- THE SATURNIAN
AH, I must follow it high and low,
Tho' it leave me cold to your human touch!
Some starry sorcery made me so;
And from my birth have I been such.
What is it I follow so secret-lone?
Over the hills and along the sea?
Beauty with every seed is sown,
For you, for them, for me?
Not so, by the gods! Do I not hear
In the night a tender-muffled crying,
Rising, falling, sinking, dying?
Oh, I must follow it thro' the world!
Not so, by the gods! When the dawn-wind stirs,
Rustling over the river-reeds,
Trembling over the wet pastures,
Shall I not follow it, whither it leads?
Oh, wild and sad, oh, wild and sweet,
Is the lonely horn that I always hear,
Blown from the place where all streams meet,
Where all horizons disappear!
The long sea-tides bring home to port,
Their ships by many a moonlit wharf,
