The Wanderer's Soul
OH, why should I weep because men weep !
For me fierce winds are singing,
And past the mists and the veils of rain,
A blithesome Soul, I’m winging.
For me fierce winds are singing,
And past the mists and the veils of rain,
A blithesome Soul, I’m winging.
And past the moon, with her pool of dreams
And her ruined hills forlorn,
I seek the tale she has long forgot,
And I hear Orion’s horn.
And her ruined hills forlorn,
I seek the tale she has long forgot,
And I hear Orion’s horn.
Orion hunts with the laughing Dead;
And, down the thundering skies,
They point my little grave to me
Where wet in the field it lies.
And, down the thundering skies,
They point my little grave to me
Where wet in the field it lies.
Anita Fitch.