The Traveller and the
A piece of the moon shows obscurely
Through the haze with a luminous
I am glad that the road I must go
Will not be all desolate, surely,
Since I find here a face that I
She is saying to me, “Is it you that I see,
Who have seen you so often
Where mightier trees grew wilder than these
On a wider more barbarous shore—
”I return to you always. Behold me.
These my rays will again light
your way now.
I remember those secrets you told me,
Those wild wondrous words you once said,
While in torrents of whiteness I shed
All night floods of light on your head -
Have you nothing to tell me or
Where are you going alone and so late?
Was the place where you were then so worthy of hate,
Or your need for departures and journeys so great
That you never can rest for a little and wait?”
Yes, Moon, you speak true. You have found me
In many strange
And lapped and enveloped and wound me
Whole nights in your
veils and embraces.
From deserts, from forests, my passionate gaze
Has been fixed on your face. You have showered your rays
On sands where I lay
within sound of the sea,
And my heart keeps
forever your meetings with me.
But why do you ask at each turning and bend
If my feet never weary and where I would wend?
After all of our nights it is hard of you, friend,
To mock these my journeys that never can end!
If you have any comments on this poem, Ann Keith would be
pleased to hear from you.