<p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"></SPAN></p>
<h2> To the Man of the High North </h2>
<p>My rhymes are rough, and often in my rhyming<br/>
I've drifted, silver-sailed, on seas of dream,<br/>
Hearing afar the bells of Elfland chiming,<br/>
Seeing the groves of Arcadie agleam.<br/>
<br/>
I was the thrall of Beauty that rejoices<br/>
From peak snow-diademed to regal star;<br/>
Yet to mine aerie ever pierced the voices,<br/>
The pregnant voices of the Things That Are.<br/>
<br/>
The Here, the Now, the vast Forlorn around us;<br/>
The gold-delirium, the ferine strife;<br/>
The lusts that lure us on, the hates that hound us;<br/>
Our red rags in the patch-work quilt of Life.<br/>
<br/>
The nameless men who nameless rivers travel,<br/>
And in strange valleys greet strange deaths alone;<br/>
The grim, intrepid ones who would unravel<br/>
The mysteries that shroud the Polar Zone.<br/>
<br/>
These will I sing, and if one of you linger<br/>
Over my pages in the Long, Long Night,<br/>
And on some lone line lay a calloused finger,<br/>
Saying: "It's human-true—it hits me right";<br/>
Then will I count this loving toil well spent;<br/>
Then will I dream awhile—content, content.<br/></p>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />
1 of 2
2 of 2
Previous
Next
Update Required
To play the media you will need to either update your browser to a recent version or update your Flash plugin.