54902: Over the Hills

<p dir="ltr"> Often and often it came back again<br> To mind, the day I passed the horizon ridge<br> To a new country, the path I had to find<br> By half-gaps that were stiles once in the hedge,<br> The pack of scarlet clouds running across<br> The harvest evening that seemed endless then<br> And after, and the inn where all were kind,<br> All were strangers. I did not know my loss<br> Till one day twelve months later suddenly<br> I leaned upon my spade and saw it all,<br> Though far beyond the sky-line. It became<br> Almost a habit through the year for me<br> To lean and see it and think to do the same<br> Again for two days and a night. Recall<br> Was vain: no move could the restless brook<br> Ever turn back and climb the waterfall<br> To the lake that rests and stirs not in its nook,<br> As in the hollow of the collar-bone<br> Under the mountain's head of rush and stone.<br></p>