Of nobler wit and finer chords— 

 But this I cannot tell; 

 For ever lovely things I sought 

 In some strange borderland of thought, 

 Content therein to dwell. 

 "For who could blame or who could praise 

 If one should choose to pass his days 

 In a phantasy of dreams, 

 And, finding thus his own ideal 

 In things dissevered from the real, 

 Be happier than he seems? 

 "Ah! who could praise or who could blame, 

 Tho' glimmers all my way the same, 

 Like a dyke-road thro' a fen. 

 Far on, far on—a ruddy spark— 

 The toll-light glows adown the dark, 

 And I, like other men, 

 "Must pay my toll and pass beyond,— 

 I made no vow, I signed no bond, 

 Nor lose my self-esteem, 

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