Ev’n in that harbour whence he sail’d before.
There Enoch spoke no word to anyone,
But homeward—home—what home? had he a home?
His home, he walk’d. Bright was that afternoon,
Sunny but chill; till drawn thro’ either chasm, 670
Where either haven open’d on the deeps,
Roll’d a sea-haze and whelm’d the world in gray;
Cut off the length of highway on before,
And left but narrow breadth to left and right
Of wither’d holt or tilth or pasturage. 675