Classic Poem

When that which bore my body up takes wings
At night-fall, and my limbs are thrown to rest,
I watch in wonder, as it makes its quest,
The place it chooses for its wanderings.
No easeful meadows nor delightful springs
Nor visionary islands lure it best,
But far-off on the margin of the West
A sea-grey house whereby the blackbird sings.
The waves come up like Berserks from the sea,
The crystal mountains yield a little sand,
Through level light the bird of valour calls.
Adventurous as a Viking must that be
Which will not rest when sleep on Nature falls
But hastens to the confines of the land.