Here you will find the Poem Duna of poet Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
WHEN I was a little lad With folly on my lips, Fain was I for journeying All the seas in ships. But now across the southern swell, Every dawn I hear The little streams of Duna Running clear. When I was a young man, Before my beard was gray, All to ships and sailormen I gave my heart away. But I'm weary of the sea-wind, I'm weary of the foam, And the little stars of Duna Call me home.
