I walk along a path of ends,
Still with a hope of use for truth.
And with a knowledge of the bends,
I move along the roads a sleuth.

But what I seek I cannot say,
For lost is not a minded thought.
And ‘though I seem to find my way,
“Lost” is all I’ve seemed to sought.

And when I reach the pathway’s edge,
Of which I knew before I came,
I sigh at sight of fearful ledge,
As if the bust was not my aim.

For lost is he who seeks for truth
On paths of worn and failed depart.
And distant grows the mournful youth;
The seeking lost and hopeful heart.