When thought that words no more
could be hunted down and bent to my will,
I hear them sing from places  still
unfound, though nothing have i sought more,

And strain to catch the faint tune
of memories I dimly recall of times when
While standing nearly alone just then,
I sang up to a moon

And of when the moon had all but gone
and  the tides all washed away;
But the words I hunt are all now done,
and scurry from the light of day.