Drawn by what strange, mysterious power,
    From what dream world and magic sky
Came they to laugh on earth an hour,
            To weep, to toil, to die?

And whither gone? On what wild flight
    By planet pale and sceptred star?
What realms of sorrow or delight
            Now wander they afar?

Pale Wayfarers, whose noiseless tread
    Is near me as I seem to see
The mighty generations dead,
            And all that yet shall be!

Are Past and Future, then, a breath
    That one vast Present makes its own?
The Angel, Birth, the Shadow, Death,
            Each guards a world unknown.

Wayfarers all, we know not whence
    We came, nor whitherwards we go.
Deep in our hearts a haunting sense
            That somewhere we shall know.

Still the white stars burn overhead,
    The green earth swings upon her way:
Where are the voices of the dead,
            The hearts of yesterday?