Wind of the dead men's feet, <br /> Blow down the empty street <br /> Of this old city by the sea <br /> With news for me! <br /> Blow me beyond the grime <br /> And pestilence of time! <br /> I am too sick at heart to war <br /> With failure any more. <br /> Thy chill is in my bones; <br /> The moonlight on the stones <br /> Is pale, and palpable, and cold; <br /> I am as one grown old. <br /> <br /> I call from room to room <br /> Through the deserted gloom; <br /> The echoes are all words I know, <br /> Lost in some long ago. <br /> <br /> I prowl from door to door, <br /> And find no comrade more. <br /> The wolfish fear that children feel <br /> Is snuffing at my heel. <br /> <br /> I hear the hollow sound <br /> Of a great ship coming round, <br /> The thunder of tackle and the tread <br /> Of sailors overhead. <br /> <br /> That stormy-blown hulloo <br /> Has orders for me, too. <br /> I see thee, hand at mouth, and hark, <br /> My captain of the dark. <br /> <br /> O wind of the great East, <br /> By whom we are released <br /> From this strange dusty port to sail <br /> Beyond our fellows' hail, <br /> <br /> Under the stars that keep <br /> The entry of the deep, <br /> Thy somber voice brings up the sea's <br /> Forgotten melodies; <br /> <br /> And I have no more need <br /> Of bread, or wine, or creed, <br /> Bound for the colonies of time <br /> Beyond the farthest prime. <br /> <br /> Wind of the dead men's feet, <br /> Blow through the empty street; <br /> The last adventurer am I, <br /> Then, world, goodby!<br /><br />Bliss Carman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-song-before-sailing/
