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: