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e!-- Ah, vain! These English fields, this upland dim, These brambles pale with mist engarlanded, That lone, sky-pointing tree, are not for him; To a boon southern country he is fled, deg. deg.175 And now in happier air, Wandering with the great Mother's deg. train divine deg.177 (And purer or more subtle soul than thee, I trow, the mighty Mother doth not see) Within a folding of the Apennine, 180 Thou hearest the immortal chants of old!-- Putting his sickle to the perilous grain In the hot cornfield of the Phrygian king, For thee the Lityerses-song again Young Daphnis with his silver voice doth sing; 185 Sings his Sicilian fold, His sheep, his hapless love, his blinded eyes-- And how a call celestial round him rang, And heavenward from the fountain-brink he sprang, And all the marvel of the golden skies. deg. deg.190 There thou art gone, and me thou leavest here Sole deg. in these fields! yet will I not despair. Despair I will not, while I yet descry 'Neath the mild canopy of English air That lonely tree against the western sky. 195 Still, still these slopes, 'tis clear, Our Gipsy-Scholar haunts, outliving thee Fields where soft sheep deg. from cages pull the hay, Woods with anemonies in flower till May, Know him a wanderer still; then why not me? deg. deg.200 A fugitive and gracious light he seeks, Shy to illumin; and I seek it too. deg. deg.202 This does not come with houses or with gold, With place, with honour, and a flattering crew; 'Tis not in the world's market bought and sold-- 205 But the smooth-slipping weeks Drop by, and leave its seeker still untired; Out of the heed of mortals he is gone, He wends unfollow'd, he must house alone; Yet on he fares, by his own heart inspired. 210 Thou too, O Thyrsis, on like quest was bound; Thou wanderedst with me for a little hour! Men gave thee nothing; but this happy quest, If men esteem'd thee feeble, gave thee power, If men procured thee trouble, gave thee rest. 215 And this rude Cumner ground, Its fir-topped Hurst, its farms, its quiet fields, Here cam'st thou
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