There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream, The earth, and every common sight
To me did seem
Apparelled in celestial light.
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it hath been of yore;
Turn wheresoe'er I may,
By night or day,
The things which I have seen I now can see no more.
— But there's a tree, of many, one
A single field which I have looked upon,
Both of them speak of something that is gone.
The pansy at my feet
Doth the same tale repeat:
Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
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