⁠The dank moss dripping from the wall,
The thorn-trees gaunt, the walks o'ergrown,
⁠I love them—how I love them all!

Still, as I mused, the naked room,
⁠The alien firelight died away;
And from the midst of cheerless gloom,
⁠I passed to bright, unclouded day.

A little and a lone green lane
⁠That opened on a common wide;
A distant, dreamy, dim blue chain
⁠Of mountains circling every side.

A heaven so clear, an earth so calm,
⁠So sweet, so soft, so hushed an air;
And, deepening still the dream-like charm,
⁠Wild moor-sheep feeding everywhere.

That was the scene, I knew it well;
⁠I knew the turfy pathway's sweep,
That, winding o'er each billowy swell,
⁠Marked out the tracks of wandering sheep.

Could I have lingered but an hour,
⁠It well had paid a week of toil;
But Truth has banished Fancy's power;
⁠Restraint and heavy task recoil.