And always, as the changeful landscape spread Mead beyond mead, and furrow’d ridge and tree, And traversed road, and bridge, and woodland lea; Me seemèd as a chart my life to see, What was, and is, and that which is to be, As dark and bright the region’s face I read. Nor yet I stay’d at all, but still with Time Fled by, and onward many leagues, until, About the height of day the wheel was still, About the hour it was ere noon should chime, And I look’d forth and saw dim-pointed spires, Like flames, arising from a golden mead Which burn’d with all the yellow crowded fires Of shining cups that fill the fields of May: Whereby a city fair mine eyes had heed, Verged round with bowery close, and willows grey Shading the silent water’s secret way, Girdling the quiet town with cluster’d reed.
Thence rose no surge of men, or sound of strife, But smoothly glode the even hours of life, Told by the sweet-tongued bells in tuneful towers; And in the streets there moved the breath of flowers, And incense, such as riseth after showers Upon deep gardens, hiding in their bowers The inmost heart of sweetness. Still my way Drew on, between high-window’d walls and old, That to the street an ancient story told, With solemn mien unto Life’s changing day, In restless ebb and flow, as sea-waves play About the feet of lonely cliff’s; tho’ now Even these I pass’d, as fleeting things and vain, For all my heart a strange consuming pain Possess’d, in thought of what I hoped to gain Fill’d with an exquisite fire, wherein did show All things as dross, or gold of fairest vein: As, since the gate of Love had oped for me, I lived in hell or heavenly ecstasy.
But all things on this day had good import, For even now I went to Love’s high court, To greet my heart’s dear queen, where she did dwell In this his holy city, where the streets Seem’d gold, or like the burnish’d path which meets The sun’s bright porch across the shining sea; So in Love’s glory shone my way to me. Until before her gate the splendour fell.
Robed in sweet grace and crowned with her hair, I met my queen, upon her palace stair, And near I was to fall and worship there, As to her hand I brought a golden gift, Which she, my gracious sovereign, counted well, And me unto her highest grace did lift, Making me rich above all kingly state.