Classic Poem

There is a crying in my heart
That never will be still,
Like the voice of a lonely bird
Behind a starry hill;

There is a crying in my heart
For what I may not know—
An infinite crying of desire
Because my feet are slow. . . .

My feet are slow, my eyes are blind,
My hands are weak to hold:
It is the universe I seek,
All life I would enfold!