And sometimes on the haunted solitude
Rises the pilgrim’s hymn:
Or where some fountain lies,
With lotus-cups through orient spice-woods gleaming!
There have ye been, ye wanderers! idly dreaming
Of man’s lost paradise!
Return, my thoughts—return!
Cares wait your presence in life’s daily track,
And voices, not of music, call you back—
Harsh voices, cold and stem!