Endless.

From far, from eve and morning 

And yon twelve-winded sky,

The stuff of life to knit me 

Blew hither; here am I.

Now - for a breath I tarry 

Nor yet disperse apart -

Take my hand quick and tell me, 

What have you in your heart.

Speak now, and I will answer; 

How shall I help you, say;

Ere to the wind's twelve quarters 

I take my endless way.

- A. E. Housman