Poem: A. E. Housman, ‘XXXII’

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.

From A Shropshire Lad (1896)

I came across this poem in Ursula K Le Guin’s collection, The Wind’s Twelve Quarters, which takes its title from Housman’s verse.  It also resonates with how I’ve been feeling recently.