WHAT SIGHT so lured him thro’ the fields he knew As where earth’s green stole into heaven’s own hue, Far—far—away?
What sound was dearest in his native dells?
What vague world-whisper, mystic pain or joy,
A whisper from his dawn of life? a breath
Far, far, how far? from o’er the gates of Birth,
What charm in words, a charm no words could give? |