I. Proem

A barren heath, with bitter east-winds piping,
A garden full of sunshine and of bees,
A village school, a wandering home, a boyhood
Perplexed and various, shot with sin and shame,
A hot and wayward youth, led by false lights
To sloughs and bogs of danger and contempt,
A vague uneasiness, and ignorance—
For knowledge opens but to one key, Love,
The which I partly sought, but found it not—
Such were the earlier hours of Life’s drear night.