Clay lies still, but blood’s a rover
Breath’s aware that will not keep.
Up, lad: when the journey’s over
There’ll be time enough to sleep.

Into my heart an air that kills
From yon far country blows:
What are those blue remembered hills,
What spires, what farms are those?

That is the land of lost content,
I see it shining plain,
The happy highways where I went
And cannot come again.

When green buds hang in the elm like dust
And sprinkle the lime like rain,
Forth I wander, forth I must,
And drink of life again.