The lonesome for they know not what—

The lonesome for they know not what—
The Eastern exiles be,
Who strayed beyond the amber line
Some madder holiday.

And ever since the purple West
They strive to climb in vain—
As birds that tremble from the clouds
Do fumble at the strain
The blessed ether taught them
Some transatlantic morn,
When heaven was too common to miss,
Too sure to dote upon.