With Feelers On The Head

With feelers on the head Go I Through the fields Of night Through The roads of dust Whitened by the Moon Go I. With head Hung down And up With tears At the heavens Alternately Go I. Lone shepherd that shepherd be Not And wants not sheep: Yet Round about him The bleats of the Spirits Drawl As sheep around, around Into that nocturnal desert Without sound. Lone solitary man! Solitary pilgrim Bent And aged And broken down Yet free Yet free When will The nights be nights Of sound The waters gurgled Loud Not silent? The cemeteries not Filled with sound Except in ghost processions round? With feelers on the head Go I Through the fields Of night Through The roads of dust Whitened by the Moon Go I.