Wild Geese

Wild Geese, wild Geese, where are you going? 
The mist's before you, behind's the rain: 
The red east wind thro' your plumes is blowing— 
When will it blow you back home again? 

Wild Geese, wild Geese, where you are going 
My heart goes also, and fain would flee 
Farther away where the Hunter's glowing, 
But Miscann Many's the light for me. 

After the wildfire I must follow, 
Tho' the way is dark where I set my feet — 
While you fly hence amid crying hollow, 
The wind's long keen, and the lash of sleet. 

Good speed, wild Geese, and a truce to sighing! 
Fair fall your way over wind and wave, 
Till I awaken, and hear you flying 
Over and over my bogland grave.