“But you were living before that,
And also you are living after;
And the memory I started at—
My starting moves your laughter!
“I crossed a moor with a name of its own,
And a certain use in the world, no doubt,
Yet a hand’s breadth of it shines alone
’Mid the blank miles around about:
“For there I picked up on the heather,
And there I put inside my breast,