It tells me how I ought to be, or rather not,

With voiceless words, nor writ, allowing no response.

It locks the throat and blinds the eye and deafs the ear

With throbbing light, incessant sound and iron grip.

It's hardly large enough to hold a beating heart,

Yet here am I, in my entirety, in it.

He sailed away and I was left alone
To suffer and to think of him by night.
By day as well I was disposed to moan,
'My Love, why did you have to go and fight?'

'For fighter you are not, my Love, you hear?
Your heart is much too delicate for that.
Come, sit and play your music for me here,
This view! how could you go, forsaking that?'

'That deep horizon beckons me, my darling.
It pulls me on and on across the sea
To where I can be questing, not be idling.
Alyria is where I need to be.'

Thus here I am to see my Love again,
To see if what we had does still remain.