(And mine own image, had I noted well!) —
Was that my point of turning? — I had thought
The stations of my course should raise unsought,
As altarstone or ensigned citadel.
But lo! The path is missed, I must go back,
And thirst to drink when next I reach the spring
Which once I stained, which since may have grown black.
Yet thought no light be left nor bird now sing
As here I turn, I’ll thank God, hastening,
That the same goal is still on the same track.“