My friend the Sun—like all my friends <br />Inconstant, lovely, far away - <br />Is out, and bright, and condescends <br />To glory in our holiday. <br />A furious march with him I'll go <br />And race him in the Western train, <br />And wake the hills of long ago <br />And swim the Devon sea again. <br /> <br />I have done foolishly to head <br />The footway of the false moonbeams, <br />To light my lamp and call the dead <br />And read their long black printed dreams. <br /> <br />I have done foolishly to dwell <br />With Fear upon her desert isle, <br />To take my shadowgraph to Hell, <br />And then to hope the shades would smile. <br /> <br />And since the light must fail me soon <br />(But faster, faster, Western train!) <br />Proud meadows of the afternoon, <br />I have remembered you again. <br /> <br />And I'll go seek through moor and dale <br />A flower that wastrel winds caress; <br />The bud is red and the leaves pale, <br />The name of it Forgetfulness. <br /> <br />Then like the old and happy hills <br />With frozen veins and fires outrun, <br />I'll wait the day when darkness kills <br />My brother and good friend, the Sun.<br /><br />James Elroy Flecker<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-western-voyage/
