In woodland bright the gentle west wind’s call

bids Eldoreth arise, depart from all,

and on the shore of the great, boundless sea

he hears a silent voice speak audibly

in words without sound, yet still echoing,

to build a ship and to go a-sailing

across the wild and unknown ocean’s breadth

to a place that calls to his inner depth:

both long and far, yet deeply desiréd,

unseen, yet his heart’s longing inspiréd.

The ceaseless cascade of the ocean’s waves

he with hardly a hesitation braves

for they call to him, and call him beyond,

stirring thirst in his heart for distant shores,

far-flung woodlands, mountains, and hidden moors.

And so he goes, tracing the lines inscribed

in his heart to their secret, hidden place,

a journey across the ocean’s myst’ry,

a journey to his own heart’s hist’ry,

to the far country beyond horizon,

the aspiration of each orison:

to the origin from which all tides come,

where all is discov’ry and all is home.