From Far, from Eve

From far, from eve and morning

     And yon twelve-winded sky,

The stuff of life to knit me

     Blew hither: here am I.

Now—for a breath I tarry

     Nor yet disperse apart—

Take my hand quick and tell me,

     What have you in your heart.

Speak now, and I will answer;

     How shall I help you, say;

Ere to the wind's twelve quarters

     I take my endless way.
 

A.E. Housman