Classic Poem

My love is gone into the East
Across the wide dawn-kindled sea;
My love remembreth naught of me
Nor of my lips nor of my breast,
For he has gone where morning dwells
Into the land of dreams and spells.

But yet sometimes deep in the night
A foolish little cricket thing,
A kind of voice, will wake and sing
And drone and sing till it is light;
I am not sure, but every day
I grow to think he sings this way:—

“Into the West, or late or soon,
Across dim seas into the West,
Thy lover will sail back in quest
Of Earth's one gift and life's one boon,
Of simple love that comes to pass
As dew falls or as springs the grass.”