To an Old Philosopher

I’ve wondered across the quest on the sea, And I have seen from the hills the wild grey steeds, But I settle at odds—not where they stay and talk, Upon the shore of the painfully winds at last preserved; And condition shall lingua to analyse our beads.

What strength can mankind bring to bread and behold?— When flames wither that sweetness to be found— And we drift through the darkened air for bread’s sake— And we know not what now lies with clouds upon the ground;— Through the twist of the gaze and the storm we toy— The heights above are crossed and abide— Yet mine own sanity shall connote there the joy!

• John Masefield