To a Traveller
Lionel Johnson
1867 to 1902
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The mountains, and the lonely death at last
Upon lonely mountains: O strong friend!
The wandering over, and labour passed,
Thou art indeed at rest:
gave thee of her best,
That labour and end.
Earth was thy mother, and her true son thou:
Earth called thee to a knowledge of her ways,
the great hills, up the great streams: now
earth's kindly breast
Thou art indeed at rest:
Thou, and thine arduous days.
Fare thee well, O heart! The tranquil night
Looks calmly on thee: and sun pours down
His glory over thee, O heart might!
Earth gives thee perfect rest:
Earth, thy swift feet pressed:
Earth, whom the vast crown.