From far, from eve and morning
And yon twelve-winded sky,
The stuff of life to knit me
Blew hither: here am I.

                             Now -- for a breath I tarry
                             Nor yet disperse apart -- 
                             Take my hand quick and tell me,
                             What have you in your heart.

                                                     Speak now, and I will answer;
                                                     How shall I help you, say;
                                                     Ere to the wind's twelve quarters.  
                                                     I take my endless way.