If I, between two suns, should go away,
No voice would lift to ask another why,
No word would question my retreat, nor sigh,
Nor wonder why I'd chosen not to stay;
For I am a stranger here, of other clay:
A guest within this house, a passerby-
A roving life whose theme has been "Goodbye"
A shadow on the road, a thing astray.
What dim ancestral heritage is mine.
That now awakens in my blood regret?
What destiny is this, what strange design,
That I must seek a haunting silhouette
In unremembered lands my dreams divine,
But cannot quite recall or quite forget?