Say not my eyes are a return;
Though I have been in many lands,
Volcanic peaks of time still burn
And throw a flame upon my hands.
Say not my voice is music’s mood
When music accents song alone.
Though I have crossed heart’s longitude,
The latitude remains unknown.
And I from realms of living dead
Still search the auguries of skies,
Withhold my word, and ask instead
A shining landmark from your eyes.
Say not my face and voice are deep
With having conquered time and death;
Too many leagues of life are sleep,
Too few are fire within our breath.
Ask not of me deliberate grace,
Peace from heart’s regions I passed through;
I come a wanderer in this place,
And ask the tranquil road of you.
ISSUE: Autumn 1941