A fugitive and gracious light he seeks,

Shy to illumine; and I seek it too. This does not come with houses or with gold,

With place, with honor, and a flattering crew;

'Tis not in the world's market bought and sold.

But the smooth-slipping weeks Drop by, and leave its seeker still untired.

Out of the heed of mortals is he gone,

He wends unfollowed, he must house alone;

Yet on he fares, by his own heart inspired.

Thou too, O Thyrsis, on this quest wert bound,

Thou wanderedst with me for a little hour.

Men gave thee nothing; but this happy quest,

If men esteemed thee feeble, gave thee power,

If men procured thee trouble, gave thee rest.

And this rude Cumner ground, Its fir-topped Hurst, its farms, its quiet fields,

Here cam'st thou in thy jocund youthful time,

Here was thine height of strength, thy golden prime,

And still the haunt beloved a virtue yields.