Old bonds, old ardors, expectation, ease,
Glory and death, belovèd land and sea.
Even as walled frost that feels the solar ray,
Curls up, impermanent, and reels far down
In long blue films, elfin, processional,
While the built stones fall to their first grave hue,
De-silvered: so the awful powers of earth
Exhale from me who stand the same; for these
Are vain, these are phantasmal, but not I.
At last I know myself, and know my need