The Lemmings

Once in a hundred years the Lemmings come

Westward, in search of food, over the snow;

Westward until the salt sea drowns them dumb;

Westward, till all are drowned, those Lemmings go.

Once, it is thought, there was a westward land

Now drowned where there was food for those starved things,

And memory of the place has burnt its brand

In the little brains of all the Lemming Kings.

Perhaps, long since, there was a land beyond

Westward from death, some city, some calm place

Where one could taste God's quiet and be fond

With the little beauty of a human face;

But now the land is drowned. Yet we still press

Westward, in search, to death, to nothingness.