As Though the Sun Would Never Set

Discovery mocks the explorer

Westward yearns the heart,
ever reaching, always searching—
beseeching the next ocean,
the next horizon to be the edge
of the world that time forgot.

No eyes to the east:
stormclouds gather behind,
sleet and snow to freeze the soul;
mountains to the front,
teeth of the world,
maw of tomorrow.

Westward yearns the heart,
the spray of the sea,
the mist in the trees,
the rolling of the plain—
rolling, unfolding, immense and relentless,
the neverending plain.

There is no world before us
we will not conquer.
There is no land
we have not brutally subdued.

Always will our hearts pull thence,
but the wild West is lost:
spoils for our burning, yearning hearts.