The Intrepid Traveller
For sweet Ken Kesey
In Memoriam (an extract) by Tennyson
Thy voice is on the rolling air;
I hear thee where the waters run;
Thou standest in the rising sun,
And in the setting thou art fair.
What art thou then? I cannot guess;
But tho' I seem in star and flower
To feel thee some diffusive flower
I do not therefore love thee less;
My love involves the love before;
My love is vaster passion now;
Tho' mix'd with God and nature thou,
I seem to love thee more and more.
Far off thou art,but ever nigh;
I have thee still,and I rejoice;
I prosper,circled with thy voice;
I shall not lose thee tho' I die.