Now, sometimes in my sorrow shut, Or breaking into song by fits; Alone, alone, to where he sits, The Shadow cloak’d from head to foot
Who keeps the keys of all the creeds, I wander, often falling lame, And looking back to whence I came, Or on to where the pathway leads;
And crying, how changed from where it ran Thro’ lands where not a leaf was dumb; But all the lavish hills would hum The murmur of a happy Pan:
When each by turns was guide to each, And Fancy light from Fancy caught, And Thought leapt out to wed with Thought, Ere thought could wed itself with Speech:
And all we met was fair and good, And all was good that Time could bring, And all the secret of the Spring Moved in the chambers of the blood:
And many an old philosophy On Argive heights divinely sang, And round us all the thicket rang To many a flute of Arcady.