And traversed road, and bridge, and woodland lea;
Me seemèd as a chart my life to see,
What was, and is, and that which is to be,
As dark and bright the region’s face I read.
Nor yet I stay’d at all, but still with Time
Fled by, and onward many leagues, until,
About the height of day the wheel was still,
About the hour it was ere noon should chime,
And I look’d forth and saw dim-pointed spires,
Like flames, arising from a golden mead