O sought-for prize! Full many a day
The old black punt has swung
Beyond his stance, in twilight's grey,
Or when the dawn was young;
What hopes were ours, what heart-beats high
Have thrilled us, when he rolled
Up from the jade-green deep, a-nigh,
Dull-gleaming as of gold!
Glide on, ye stately swans, with grace—
Ye ne'er again shall see