A. E. Housman — From far from eve and morning

                  XXXII          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.