But what am I? An infant crying in the night: An infant crying for the light: And with no language but a cry.

I wind about, and in and out, - With here a blossom sailing, - And here and there a lusty trout, - And here and there a grayling.

He is all fault who has no fault at all.

Wearing all that weight Of learning lightly like a flower.

I have led her home, my love, my only friend. There is none like her, none, And never yet so warmly ran my blood, And sweetly, on and on Calming itself to the long-wished for end, Full to the banks, close on the prom- ised good.

Oh for someone with a heart, head and hand. Whatever they call them, what do I care, aristocrat, democrat, autocrat, just be it one that can rule and dare not lie.

My purpose holds to sail beyond the sunset and the baths of all the Western stars until I die.