Monday, August 17, 2020

To the weary wayfarer

Some words for the weary wayfarer who walks alone.

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Whisper, spring-wind, softly singing,
 Whisper in my ear;
Respite and nepenthe bringing,
 Can the goal be near?
Laden with the dew of vespers,
 From the fragrant sky,
In my ear the wind that whispers
 Seems to make reply --

"Question not, but live and labour
 Till yon goal be won,
Helping every feeble neighbour,
 Seeking help from none;
Life is mostly froth and bubble,
 Two things stand like stone,
KINDNESS in another's trouble,
 COURAGE in your own."

Courage, comrades, this is certain,
 All is for the best --
There are lights behind the curtain --
 Gentiles, let us rest.
As the smoke-rack veers to seaward,
 From "the ancient clay",
With its moral drifting leeward,
 Ends the wanderer's lay.
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Excerpt from "Fytte VIII, Finis Exoptatus [A Metaphysical Song]" in "Ye Wearie Wayfarer, hys Ballad In Eight Fyttes" by Adam Lindsay Gordon

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