The Boy from his bedroom-window Look'd over the little town, And away to the bleak black upland Under a clouded moon. The moon came forth from her cavern, He saw the sudden gleam Of a tarn in the swarthy moorland; Or perhaps the whole was a dream. For I never could find that water In all my walks and rides: Far-off, in the Land of Memory, That midnight pool abides. Many fine things had I glimpse of, And said, 'I shall find them one day.' Whether within or without me They were, I cannot say. |