The Wayfarers
I.
Young man with the keen blue eyes,
Clear and bold!
Why, as thou dost fare,
With so searching air,
Scannest thou each face thou dost behold,
Each small flower, faint-colored like the skies,
Growing by the way? Why gazest thou
O’er the round hill’s brow?
“Ah, in every bearded face,
Looking deep,
My heart’s friend seek I!
In each maiden shy
My heart’s dearest, dreamed upon in sleep;
And in each fair flower a hope I trace;
And the hill may hide the flashing sea
That doth call to me!”
II.
Old man with the pale blue eyes,
Mild and clear!
Why, as thou dost fare,
With that pondering air
Into passing faces dost thou peer?
Why dost pause, where dim like autumn skies
Starry asters grow? Why gazest thou
O’er the round hill’s brow?
“Ah, from each gray-bearded face
Would I know
What that heart hath found;
And in youths that bound
See a youth who vanished long ago!
In each flower a memory can I trace;
O’er the hill the green, still place may be
That doth wait for me!”