With the sun for a sail.
The way is wide and blue and lone
With all its miles inviolate
Save for the swinging stars we’ve sown
And a thistle of cloud remote and blown.
Oh, I passion for something nearer than these!
How shall I know that this live thing is I
With only the morning for proof and the sky?
I long for a music more soft to its keys,
For a touch that shall teach me the new sureties.