A Century of Parody and Imitation

by Unknown

Hither and yon on the barren breast of the breeze,

Though we wander on gusts of a god's breath shaken and shifted,

The salt of us stings, and is sore for the sobbing seas.

For home's sake hungry at heart, we sicken in pillared porches

Of bliss, made sick for a life that is barren of bliss,

For the place whereon is a light out of heaven that sears not nor scorches,

Nor elsewhere than this.

[An exile from home, splendour dazzles in vain—]

For here we know shall no gold thing glisten,

No bright thing burn, and no sweet thing shine;