'Mid the waving Woods of Wytham,
Now so far, so far from me,
Where the grand old beeches be,
And the deer-herds feeding by them:
...
This day it was--Ah! years ago,
Long years ago, when first we met;
When first her voice thrill'd through my heart,
...
My little bark glides steadily along,
Still and unshaken as a summer dream;
And never falls the oar into the stream,
...
The night is dark, and evermore
The thick drops patter on the pane
The wind is weary of the rain,
And round the thatches moaneth sore;
...
Autumn went faintly flying o'er the land,
Trailing her golden hair along the West,
Weeping to find her waving fields despoil'd,
...
Life's chalice is empty--pour in! pour in!
What?--Pour in Strength!
Strength for the struggle through good and ill;
...
Hot blows the wild simoom across the waste,
The desert waste, amid the dreary sand,
With fiery breath swift burning up the land,
...
Oh! weary sleeper by the lone sea-shore,
Where billows toil for ever 'mid the rocks,
Scourged on by winds in stormy equinox,
...
About the land I wander, all forlorn,
About the land, with sorrow-quenched eyes;
Seeking my love among the silent woods;
...
Ever restless, ever toiling,
Fretting fiercely on its narrow bounds,
Still filling heaven and earth with mournful sounds,
...