II. 3
‘Whither, Whither?’ I heard a crying
That asked of Night, and there was none replying.
‘Whither, into what land of change and wrack,
Into what time out-racing thought and will,
With feet borne onward and mind beaten back
Over an earth that our lost loves has buried,
Against a dark wind blowing chill,
Whither are we driven, whither hurried?
‘Lovely vales of our youth, where haunted