Amy Lowell - The Poet

What instinct forces man to journey on,
Urged by a longing¹ blind but dominant²!
Nothing he sees can hold him, nothing daunt
His never failing eagerness.  The sun
Setting in splendour every night has won
His vassalage³; those towers flamboyant
Of airy cloudland palaces now haunt
His daylight wanderings.  Forever done
With simple joys and quiet happiness
He guards the vision of the sunset sky;
Though faint with weariness he must possess
Some fragment of the sunset's majesty;
He spurns⁴ life's human friendships to profess
Life's loneliness of dreaming ecstasy⁵.