Once in a hundred years the Lemmings come <br />Westward, in search of food, over the snow; <br />Westward until the salt sea drowns them dumb; <br />Westward, till all are drowned, those Lemmings go. <br />Once, it is thought, there was a westward land <br />Now drowned where there was food for those starved things, <br />And memory of the place has burnt its brand <br />In the little brains of all the Lemming Kings. <br />Perhaps, long since, there was a land beyond <br />Westward from death, some city, some calm place <br />Where one could taste God's quiet and be fond <br />With the little beauty of a human face; <br />But now the land is drowned. Yet we still press <br />Westward, in search, to death, to nothingness.<br /><br />John Masefield<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-lemmings/
