Treading the lane at a steadfast pace.
On before him, until the eye
To gauge the distance could no more try,
To where the meadow embraced the sky,
The lane still stretched, and the walls still barred
The dusty lane from the meadow sward.
He paid no heed to the joyous calls
That came from men who had leaped the walls—
Who paused a moment in song or jest,
To hail him "Brother, come here and rest!"