 | Mansoul or The Riddle of the World |  |
But in our Vision, ever hurried forth;
Being hidden fróm our sight the shipmans star:
We wiss not, under what Worlds coasts we are.
When first we might contain our flitting steps:
We inhuman Plain perceive, in Merlins glass;
Of cold and darkness, daughters of bleak Night.
Land trodden down of hoofs, cart-villages;
Of Tatar hordes, milk-nourished of their mares.
Being hidden fróm our sight the shipmans star:
We wiss not, under what Worlds coasts we are.
When first we might contain our flitting steps:
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Of cold and darkness, daughters of bleak Night.
Land trodden down of hoofs, cart-villages;
Of Tatar hordes, milk-nourished of their mares.
| Mansoul or The Riddle of the World | |