Summerquest

I am going to find the place where all the summers go,
And when I do, I swear to you, you'll be the first to 
    know.
A long comet's flight across the night, across a field of 
    snow,
Or a message of the birds, written, as always, in simple 
    words, from the place where summers go.

What do you think, my love, it's like, that country all 
    ashine?
The finest sable, and oaken tables, to hold the summer
    wine?
Or do forests there breathe wild air, and hold no place so 
    fine?
Whether it is free and wild, or tamed by noble cities 
    mild- that country all ashine?

What do you think waits for me there, if there I should 
    come?
A place like burning, the dreams of yearning, we dreamed 
    when we were young?
Or a place like summer, to its own drummer marching to its 
    own drum?
I will know then and not before, when I pass the hidden 
    door, where all summers come.

Ah, you plead with me- you say to me it is a fool's quest.
You say the morning holds words of warning- you do not 
    speak in jest.
You say you love me, and high above me, the stars know 
    what is best.
They have spoken to you at night, silver whispers of 
    hidden might, speaking against my quest.

Ah, my love- perhaps it is my fault, but I must now go.
Can your eyes see, in all honesty? Can you say you did not 
    know?
I seek the day, and not at play- like an arrow from the 
    bow
I go over dale and hill, by my desire and by my will, to 
    the place where summers go.
                                             
You weep, and your tears are fair- but I will return!
Though I ride long nights beyond starlight and comet's 
    questing burn.
I can live in shadow, but when I know of light, for light 
    I yearn.
And when you and I know, where all summers go- we will go 
    there, and not return.