Through a long absence, have not been to me,
As is a landscape to a blind man’s eye:
But oft in lonely rooms, and ’mid the din
Of towns and cities, I have owed to them,
In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,
Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart,
And passing even into my purer mind
With tranquil restoration; feelings, too,
Of unremembered pleasure; such, perhaps,
As have no slight and trivial influence