Vagrants

Magician of the labouring brain,
Shepherd who herds a wandering train,
The flocks which bring us joy or pain;

Whose tramplings fill this mortal span--
--Wild vagrant thoughts that bless or ban
The little wayward mind of man--

What hand doth their wild march control?
Heed’st Thou, contriver of the Whole,
Such idle tenants of the soul?

Wild birds which flutter to and fro,
Misled, misguided barques which go
’Cross currents streaked with weal and woe?

Propelled by gusts from shore to shore.
With senseless runes bedabbled o’er,
Known for a while, then seen no more.

Can such light things deserve one tear?
Be harbingers of Hope or Fear?
We know not. This alone we hear,

In waves, in dreams across yon sea,
Some faint voice sighs--“Infinity.”
No less, no more, naught else know we.

Only for ever through the brain
Flit on and ever on that train,
The thoughts which bring it peace--or pain.