And when the pipes called
Across the broad and lonesome divide
The creator stared and stood,
Arms and heart folded.
Who would the small god be?
Where might the soul recline,
What heart might cry undone...
And what sigh would fly ungathered?
Alone the earth wept...and sought
The ending that none might yield -
For life had strode amongst them
And even the strongest wept!
The wind is now amongst the rocks
And the light hard upon the sea;
And we few are gathered here
Beyond the soft sigh of the moon!