Chapter I

We both are pilgrims, wild and winding river!
Both wandering onward to the boundless West--
But thou art given by the good All-giver,
Blessing a land to be in turn most blest:[2]
While, like a leaf-borne insect, floating by,
Chanceful and changeful is my destiny;
I needs must follow where thy currents lave--
Perchance to find a home, or else, perchance a grave.