Rhapsody

LOVERS, are you faring forth?  
 Will you seek the icy north?  
Are you steering by the sun?  
Where you journey there is none  
But a frozen viking’s targe  
Resting idly on the marge.  
 
Lovers, do you make your way  
To a land of larger day?  
Do you track the homing flight  
Of the birds that seek the light?  
They will lead you to your death  
In the desert’s scorching breath.  
 
North or east or south or west,  
Lovers, you will lose your quest,  
For the prize of your demand  
Yields not to the hunter’s hand;  
He who searches love or truth  
Leaves them hid behind his youth.