THE ADVENTURER

He came not in the red dawn

Nor in the blaze of noon,

And all the long bright highway

Lay lonely to the moon,

And nevermore, we know now,

Will he come wandering down

The breezy hollows of the hills

That gird the quiet town.

For he has heard a voice cry

A starry-faint “Ahoy!”

Far up the wind, and followed

Unquestioning after joy.

But we are long forgetting

The quiet way he went,

With looks of love and gentle scorn

So sweetly, subtly blent.

We cannot cease to wonder,

We who have loved him, how

He fares along the windy ways

His feet must travel now.

But we must draw the curtain

And fasten bolts and bars

And talk here in the firelight

Of him beneath the stars.