From Far, From Eve And Morning

From far, from eve and morning
And yon twelve-winded sky,
The stuff of life to knit me
Blew hither: here am I.

Now-- for a breath I tarry
Nor yet disperse apart--
Take my hand quick and tell me,
What have you in your heart.

Speak now, and I will answer;
How shall I help you, say;
Ere to the wind's twelve quarters
I take my endless way.

by Alfred Edward Housman

Comments (3)

Thanks for the offer. Before you go, please give me your opinion on a couple of ideas of mine, one about Ovid and one about Manilius. Geoffrey Plowden
Sublime poem, soundtrack an utter travesty! Seeing the photgraph, I had hoped for a vintage recording, perhaps even of the poet himself. Instead, we hear a female Stephen Hawking. Poetry: that which is lost in computerisation.
And our little life is rounded with a sleep.