The Hastening Earth

What is this urge, this hastening,
This lashing something which besets all creation?
I watch the moving clouds making their way
In haste across the summer sky,
Making away, away! To where, where?
I beheld a thrush burst forth from the hedgerow,
Carrolling, carrolling, letting free its song,
Making away, surely, surely. To where, where?
I saw the moon coming up over the somber eve,
Hastening, hastening through the fleecy clouds,
Urging them to make a free path for her tread;
Unto where, where?
I saw the sun press his golden lips
Upon the wood's flanks, and they
Flushed scarlet at his wooing.
But he, hastened up, up, up!
Unto the zenith but for one precious moment,
Then hastened downward-unto where, where?
And the summer! I saw her bind
Poppies within her golden locks,
And veil her blue eyes with the lace of cloudlets.
I saw her laugh upon the fields,
But for a little season, and, leaving,
The fields were haunted things, while she
Hastened, hastened on-to where, where?
Oh, the Spring was fretful, yea, weeping;
But the moon, and the stars, and the sun,
Wooing her, caused her to smile
But for that rare hour, then wane,
Leaving her gentle footfall but in the echoes,
As she hastened on-to where, where?
Oh, I am consumed with the urge!
What is this thing which beckons then?
I, too, feel that mystic touch upon me,
And I gird the loins of my spirit,
And make me ready for this journey-
Unto where, where?