“Sit like a fool then, crassly emptying
Glass after wineglass in some foul tavern,
Watching the night and its candles gutter,
Snoring at sunrise.
In England now the wind blows high
And clouds brush rudely at the sky;
The blood runs thinly through my frame,
I half-caress the hearthstone’s flame,
Oppressed by autumn’s desolate cry.
Then homesick for the south am I,
For where the lucky swallows fly,
But each warm land is just a name
In England now.
The luckless workers I espy
With chins dipped low and collars high,
Walk into winter, do not blame
The shifting globe. A gust of shame
Represses my unmanly sigh
In England now.”

“A great wind came forth, the clouds rose on high.
Now that my might rules all within the seas, I have returned to my old village.
Where will I find brave men to guard the four corners of my land?”

“This light is for the world.
Send out from this wooden frame
a beacon made of holy flame
like a bridge across the morning sky
from candle to the hills of high
this light is for the world.”

“Now you wouldn't believe me if I told you, but I could run like the wind blows. From that day on, if I was ever going somewhere, I was running!”

“A restless flame
Someone calls your name
Through the empty hall
Casting shadows on the wall
In the sound of emptiness
Isolation
Nowhere left to run
Now the time has come…”

“And all I wanna do is let it be and be with you and watch the wind blow by.
And all I wanna see is you and me go on forever like the clear blue sky.
Slowly, there's only you and I.
And all I wanna do is watch the wind blow by.”

“The pines smell sweet in the frozen air,
and their silhoutte's just fading there,
the wolves crouch close, against the snow
but where we're running I don't know,
In villages and soft sad towns
the candles sway as night comes down,
cold bones creak and strange beasts cry,
watching shadows in the sky…
All I have, all I need, all I got….. is providence. ~ Providence”

“I am the sunlight in the heart, the silver moonglow in the mind;
My laughter runs and ripples through the wavy tresses of the wind.
I am the fire upon the hills, the dancing flame that leads afar
Each burning-hearted wanderer, and I the dear and homeward star.”

“I have found nothing half so good
As my long-planned half solitude,
Where I can sit up half the night
With some friend that has the wit
Not to allow his looks to tell
When I am unintelligible.”

“Little Fly,
Thy summer’s play
My thoughtless hand
Has brushed away.

Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?

For I dance,
And drink, and sing,
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.”