Often rebuked, yet always back returning
OFTEN
rebuked,
yet
always
back
returning
To
those
first
feelings
that
were
born
with
me,
And
leaving
busy
chase
of
wealth
and
learning
For
idle
dreams
of
things
which
cannot
be:
Today,
I
will
not
seek
the
shadowy
region;
Its
unsustaining
vastness
waxes
drear;
And
visions
rising,
legion
after
legion,
Bring
the
unreal
world
too
strangely
near.
I'll
walk,
but
not
in
old
heroic
traces,
And
not
in
paths
of
high
morality,
And
not
among
the
half-distinguished
faces,
The
clouded
forms
of
long-past
history.
I'll
walk
where
my
own
nature
would
be
leading:
It
vexes
me
to
choose
another
guide:
Where
the
grey
flocks
in
ferny
glens
are
feeding;
Where
the
wild
wind
blows
on
the
mountain-side.
What
have
those
lonely
mountains
worth
revealing?
More
glory,
and
more
grief,
than
I
can
tell:
The
earth
that
wakes
one
human
heart
to
feeling
Can
centre
both
the
worlds
of
Heaven
and
Hell.
