Canto C

We leave the well-beloved place

      Where first we gazed upon the sky;

      The roofs, that heard our earliest cry,

Will shelter one of stranger race.

We go, but ere we go from home,

      As down the garden-walks I move,

      Two spirits of a diverse love

Contend for loving masterdom.

One whispers, here thy boyhood sung

      Long since its matin song, and heard

      The low love-language of the bird

In native hazels tassel-hung.

The other answers, 'Yea, but here

      Thy feet have stray'd in after hours

      With thy lost friend among the bowers,

And this hath made them trebly dear.'

These two have striven half the day,

      And each prefers his separate claim,

      Poor rivals in a losing game,

That will not yield each other way.

I turn to go: my feet are set

      To leave the pleasant fields and farms;

      They mix in one another's arms

To one pure image of regret.