NCE a thronged thoroughfare that wound afar
By shining streams, and waving fields and woods,
And festal cities and sweet solitudes,
All whither, onward to the utmost star:
Now a blind alley, lurking by the shore
Of stagnant ditches, walled with reeking crags,
Where one old heavy-hearted vagrant lags,
Footsore, at nightfall limping to Death's door.