Pilgrims
Reading edition
Their path who shall unravel, Their purpose who unroll? From out the past they travel, The future is their goal. Theirs are the forward faces, The spring’s Arcadian airs; The old eternal graces Of youngling Time are theirs. Or gold the sky or ashen, There broods within their breast The sleepless pilgrim passion, The sweet divine unrest. They neither flag nor falter, They tarry not nor tire; Their aim they will not alter Although a king desire. They fear nor frost nor fever, Nor fire nor famine they; They follow Fate, the weaver, For ever and a day. Now tell their eyes the story Of more than mortal tears, Now gleam with starry glory, The passing pilgrim Years.