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.
