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H
"Whom the World Calls Idle
E is brother-born to the wind. Its song, in his heart
implanted, Stirs and wakes when the morning breaks and the wide
horizon burns;
He is brother-born to the sea, and visions of isles enchanted Slowly rise to his dreaming eyes from the furrow his labor
turns. Child of fate, be it soon or late that his heart he learns to
know, Not his to say if he roam or stay when the summons bids
him go :
Brother-born to the wind of morn, he must share its end- less quest
Who once hath heard the sovereign word of the gods of Great Unrest!
The stretch of the open road, the challenge of heights un- mounted,
The distant cry of the beasts that lie at the mouth of some latent lair,
