QUESTAll beneath a wintering skyFollow the wastrel butterfly;With vermilion leaf or bronze—Tatters of gorgeous gonfalons—With the winds that always holdEcho of clarions lost and old,—We must hasten, hasten onTow’rd the azure world withdrawn,We must wander, wander soWhere the ruining roses go;Where the poplar’s pallid leavesDrift among the gathered sheavesIn that harvest none shall glean;Where the twisted willows leanIn their strange, tormented woe,Seeing, on the streamlet’s flowHalf their fragile leaves depart;Where the secret pines at heart,High, funereal, vespertine,Guard eternal sorrows green:—We shall follow, we shall find,Haply, ere the light is blind,The moulded place where Beauty lay,Moon-beheld until the day,In the woven windlestrae;Or the pool of tourmaline,Rimmed with golden reeds, that wasIn the dawn a tiring-glassFor her undelaying mien.Ever wander, wander so,Where the ruining roses go;All beneath a wintering sky,Follow the wastrel butterfly.
All beneath a wintering skyFollow the wastrel butterfly;With vermilion leaf or bronze—Tatters of gorgeous gonfalons—With the winds that always holdEcho of clarions lost and old,—We must hasten, hasten onTow’rd the azure world withdrawn,We must wander, wander soWhere the ruining roses go;Where the poplar’s pallid leavesDrift among the gathered sheavesIn that harvest none shall glean;Where the twisted willows leanIn their strange, tormented woe,Seeing, on the streamlet’s flowHalf their fragile leaves depart;Where the secret pines at heart,High, funereal, vespertine,Guard eternal sorrows green:—We shall follow, we shall find,Haply, ere the light is blind,The moulded place where Beauty lay,Moon-beheld until the day,In the woven windlestrae;Or the pool of tourmaline,Rimmed with golden reeds, that wasIn the dawn a tiring-glassFor her undelaying mien.Ever wander, wander so,Where the ruining roses go;All beneath a wintering sky,Follow the wastrel butterfly.
All beneath a wintering skyFollow the wastrel butterfly;With vermilion leaf or bronze—Tatters of gorgeous gonfalons—With the winds that always holdEcho of clarions lost and old,—We must hasten, hasten onTow’rd the azure world withdrawn,We must wander, wander soWhere the ruining roses go;Where the poplar’s pallid leavesDrift among the gathered sheavesIn that harvest none shall glean;Where the twisted willows leanIn their strange, tormented woe,Seeing, on the streamlet’s flowHalf their fragile leaves depart;Where the secret pines at heart,High, funereal, vespertine,Guard eternal sorrows green:—We shall follow, we shall find,Haply, ere the light is blind,The moulded place where Beauty lay,Moon-beheld until the day,In the woven windlestrae;Or the pool of tourmaline,Rimmed with golden reeds, that wasIn the dawn a tiring-glassFor her undelaying mien.Ever wander, wander so,Where the ruining roses go;All beneath a wintering sky,Follow the wastrel butterfly.
All beneath a wintering skyFollow the wastrel butterfly;With vermilion leaf or bronze—Tatters of gorgeous gonfalons—With the winds that always holdEcho of clarions lost and old,—We must hasten, hasten onTow’rd the azure world withdrawn,We must wander, wander soWhere the ruining roses go;Where the poplar’s pallid leavesDrift among the gathered sheavesIn that harvest none shall glean;Where the twisted willows leanIn their strange, tormented woe,Seeing, on the streamlet’s flowHalf their fragile leaves depart;Where the secret pines at heart,High, funereal, vespertine,Guard eternal sorrows green:—We shall follow, we shall find,Haply, ere the light is blind,The moulded place where Beauty lay,Moon-beheld until the day,In the woven windlestrae;Or the pool of tourmaline,Rimmed with golden reeds, that wasIn the dawn a tiring-glassFor her undelaying mien.
All beneath a wintering sky
Follow the wastrel butterfly;
With vermilion leaf or bronze—
Tatters of gorgeous gonfalons—
With the winds that always hold
Echo of clarions lost and old,—
We must hasten, hasten on
Tow’rd the azure world withdrawn,
We must wander, wander so
Where the ruining roses go;
Where the poplar’s pallid leaves
Drift among the gathered sheaves
In that harvest none shall glean;
Where the twisted willows lean
In their strange, tormented woe,
Seeing, on the streamlet’s flow
Half their fragile leaves depart;
Where the secret pines at heart,
High, funereal, vespertine,
Guard eternal sorrows green:—
We shall follow, we shall find,
Haply, ere the light is blind,
The moulded place where Beauty lay,
Moon-beheld until the day,
In the woven windlestrae;
Or the pool of tourmaline,
Rimmed with golden reeds, that was
In the dawn a tiring-glass
For her undelaying mien.
Ever wander, wander so,Where the ruining roses go;All beneath a wintering sky,Follow the wastrel butterfly.
Ever wander, wander so,
Where the ruining roses go;
All beneath a wintering sky,
Follow the wastrel butterfly.