I am restless.  

I am athirst for far-away things. 

My soul goes out in a longing to touch the skirt of the dim distance. 

O Great Beyond, O the keen call of thy flute! 

I forget, I ever forget, that I have no wings to fly, that I am bound in this spot evermore.

I am eager and wakeful, I am a stranger in a strange land. 

Thy breath comes to me whispering an impossible hope. 

Thy tongue is known to my heart as its very own. 

O Far-to-seek, O the keen call of thy flute! 

I forget, I ever forget, that I know not the way, that I have not the winged horse.

I am listless, I am a wanderer in my heart. 

In the sunny haze of the languid hours, what vast vision of thine takes shape in the blue of the sky! 

O Farthest end, O the keen call of thy flute! 

I forget, I ever forget, that the gates are shut everywhere in the house where I dwell alone!