I am restless. I am athirst for far-away things.
My soul goes out in a longing
to touch the skirt of the dim distance.
O Great Beyond, O the keen call of thy flute!
I forget, I ever forget,
that I have no wings to fly,
that I am bound in this spot
evermore.
I am eager and wakeful,
I am a stranger in a strange land.
Thy breath comes to me
whispering an impossible hope.
Thy tongue is known to my heart
as its very own.
O Far-to-seek, O the keen call of thy flute!
I forget, I ever forget,
that I know not the way,
that I have not the winged horse.
I am listless, I am a wanderer in my heart.
In the sunny haze of the languid hours,
what vast vision of thine takes shape
in the blue of the sky!
O Farthest end, O the keen call of thy flute!
I forget, I ever forget,
that the gates are shut everywhere in the house
where I dwell alone!