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Against my heart your heart is closed; you bid me go:

What ways are left in all the world for Love to know?

Desolate oceans, and the light of lonely plains,

Dead moons that wander in the wastes of ice and snow—

These, these I fain would see, and find the splendid bourne

Of sunset, or the brazen deserts of the morn,

That I might lose this ever-aching loneliness

In vaster solitude; and love be less forlorn,

Faring to seek with alien sun and alien star

The strange, the veiled horizons infinite and far;

Spaces of fire and night, the skies of steel and gold,

Or sunset-haunted seas where foamless islands are.