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;
And
all we met was fair and good,
And all was good that Time could bring,
And all the secret of the Spring
Moved
in the chambers of the blood;
And
many an old philosophy
On Argive heights divinely sang,
And round us all the thicket rang
To
many a flute of Arcady.