The White Moon Wasteth

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The white moon wasteth,
And cold morn hasteth
 Athwart the snow,
The red east burneth
And the tide turneth,
 And thou must go.

Think not, sad rover,
Their story all over
 Who come from far-
Once, in the ages
Won goodly wages
 Led by a star.

Once, for all duly
Guidance doth truly
 Shine as of old,
Opens for me and thee
Once, opportunity
 Her gates of gold.

Enter, thy star is out,
Traverse nor faint nor doubt
 Earth's antres wild,
Thou shalt find good and rest
As found the Magi blest
 That divine Child.

© Jean Ingelow