(From Twilight Clear)

We strike the Harps of Mind and music rolls
Above the turmoils that each world has nursed,
We dip the cooling draught from Wells of Lore
And give its balsam to all souls that thirst.

We spread the Meals of Kindness in Love's groves
And bid the famished hordes to halt and dine,
Without the squalor of a price-tag paid
Or marking which is mine and which is thine.

For are we not marooned in sky-seas great
Where all the planet-isles show not a sail?
Are we not castaways on barren ledge
Where all the cloud-lost wastes disclose no vale?

Where we may wander in a mystic shade
And feel at last we're done with voyagings bleak?
Is there a Home for any of our breed
That search the constellations, Peace to seek?

Can we not see ourselves as Thoughts in mist
That ever rise through endless star-worlds vast?
But pausing for each rest on planets met
Renew all futures from all calvaries past?

Why grasp we not the wanderlust we serve
That havens are but haltings for Mind's night,
That we the Journey's endlessness must hymn,
That Home is but each birth-pangs' Eyes of Light?

On, I Ever on, then sea on sea ….So what?
'Tis but pausings ….that voyaging shapes our ends,
Employing Mind and Joy and Love and Lore
As we for witless Error make amends.

We are the Deathless Voyagers charting Space,
Content to sail, for sailing is our sum;
Thus are we worlds ourselves, in breathing guise,
The Peace we sought is what we are Become!

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