LV
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estward on the high-hilled plainsWhere for me the world began,Still, I think, in newer veinsFrets the changeless blood of man. Now that other lads than IStrip to bathe on Severn shore,They, no help, for all they try,Tread the mill I trod before. There, when hueless is the westAnd the darkness hushes wide,Where the lad lies down to restStands the troubled dream beside. There, on thoughts that once were mine,Day looks down the eastern steep,And the youth at morning shineMakes the vow he will not keep.
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