Wind of the dead men's feet, br Blow down the empty street br Of this old city by the sea br With news for me! br Blow me beyond the grime br And pestilence of time! br I am too sick at heart to war br With failure any more. br Thy chill is in my bones; br The moonlight on the stones br Is pale, and palpable, and cold; br I am as one grown old. br br I call from room to room br Through the deserted gloom; br The echoes are all words I know, br Lost in some long ago. br br I prowl from door to door, br And find no comrade more. br The wolfish fear that children feel br Is snuffing at my heel. br br I hear the hollow sound br Of a great ship coming round, br The thunder of tackle and the tread br Of sailors overhead. br br That stormy-blown hulloo br Has orders for me, too. br I see thee, hand at mouth, and hark, br My captain of the dark. br br O wind of the great East, br By whom we are released br From this strange dusty port to sail br Beyond our fellows' hail, br br Under the stars that keep br The entry of the deep, br Thy somber voice brings up the sea's br Forgotten melodies; br br And I have no more need br Of bread, or wine, or creed, br Bound for the colonies of time br Beyond the farthest prime.