Classic Poem

He came not in the red dawn,
Nor in the blaze of noon,
And all the long bright highway
Lay lonely to the moon.

And nevermore, we know now,
Will he come wandering down
The breezy hollows of the hills
That gird the quiet town.

For he has heard a voice cry
A starry-faint " Ahoy! "
Far up the wind, and followed
Unquestioning after joy.

But we are long forgetting
The quiet way he went,
With looks of love and gentle scorn
So sweetly, subtly blent.

We cannot cease to wonder,
We two who loved him, how
He fares along the windy ways
His feet must travel now.

But we must draw the curtain
And fasten bolts and bars
And talk, here in the firelight,
Of him beneath the stars.