For what to me this quiet Western world,
While shadows flit before me, like a dream
Of princely visits to the far-off East,
And costly gifts, and Empire's badges worn?
Alas for these gray tresses, once so black,
When, glorious in my youth, I was thy choice,
Britannia, and I seemed no vulgar clod
To thee, who taught'st me my verbosity.
Then, though the dull roughs met where'er they would,
Beat the Park palings down, and marred the flowers,