We ranging down this lower track,
      The path we came by, thorn and flower,
      Is shadow'd by the growing hour,
Lest life should fail in looking back.

So be it: there no shade can last
      In that deep dawn behind the tomb,
      But clear from marge to marge shall bloom
The eternal landscape of the past;

A lifelong tract of time reveal'd;
      The fruitful hours of still increase;
      Days order'd in a wealthy peace,
And those five years its richest field.

O Love, thy province were not large,
      A bounded field, nor stretching far;
      Look also, Love, a brooding star,
A rosy warmth from marge to marge.


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Last modified 16 February 2010