When I Am Carried Across The Moor

When I am carried across the moor
By a bluster of gust or a canter of wind
The morn's as unearthly as the morning before

And the teal of the sky in the morning thaw
With the thirst of my eyes does contend
When I am carried across the moor

The lash of the weather does not make me sore
Nor the hardness of the earth offend
The morn's as unearthly as the morning before

The pale morning scent of my sense does implore
That the myre of my mood should ascend
When I am carried across the moor

And never once yet have my lips become raw
Nor my strength whittled down to its end
For each morn's as unearthly as the morning before

And though I am severed when made to withdraw
The morning I know as a friend
When I am carried across the moor
Every morn as unearthly as the morning before