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.