Jeg følger den hvite stjernes vei fra det siste skjær, av dag til den bleke morgen øde av sjøen gråner. I drøm om et land som aldri finnes, men altid blåner bort som en sky i nettenes drivende stjernevær,Alltid så fjern for øiet, alltid min drøm så nær.

Is it so small a thing
To have enjoyed the sun,
To have lived light in the spring,
To have loved, to have thought, to have done.

The sea of Faith

Was once, too, at the full,
and round earth`s shore.
Lay like the folds of a bright girdle furled.
But now I only hear
Its melancholy, long, withdrawing roar,
Retreating, to the breath.
Of the night-wind, down the vast edges drear
And naked shingles of the world.

Ah, love, let us be true
To another ! For the world, which seems
To lie before us like a land of dreams.
So various, so beautiful, so new,
Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light,
Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain;
And we are here as on a dark ling  plain 
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night.

Fantastic place, fantastic people,
But life is not...