Classic Poem

The wind of the day blows downward
From the moor and the far lone height;
And sinks to rest on the brooding breast
Of the hushed and mothering night.

The river sweeps from the mountain
To find its peace in the sea;
But O, my heart, thou must yearn on
To all eternity.

Restless, unsatisfied, longing,
Evermore doomed to roam;
For thou hast gone on a journey long
To those hills of the soul's far home.