He knew the coming seasons, the serene, unchanging blue,

He clung to that forever, with a hope that no one knew.

Others said the hope was lost, what was left behind,

But he saw the gleam of mountains in the evening shine.

 

He did not guess or tell the way for such the quest must fold,

For each heart of followers, the wandering road did hold.

A coming back, a peering forth, a care he had sought once,

Of fire and glory and madness, of foolishness moonstruck.

 

He peered than all the further, round curves they had forgot,

Moving nimbly round the stream where one afternoon he sat.

All the rest were gone, the scents of thyme and green,

The clear and careful notes of the song that he did sing.

 

But cheering on the rays, the horns did call to men,

It happened in a moment, the world lay bright again.

White downs and long feathers, here the red deer had gone,

Tracks that were near faded, swept across the lawn.

 

The remnants of the sunset, forged him through the frost,

What fates should bring he did not guess or dare to count the cost.

The youth know not of things like this, they debate among their brew,

Of life yet lived of ancient folk, of things they never knew.

 

Some may tell the story, or spin a fancy tale,

But he alone now walked the quest along the dell.