THOMAS HARDY

When I set out for Lyonnesse,
       A hundred miles away,
       The rime was on the spray,
And starlight lit my lonesomeness
When I set out for Lyonnesse
       A hundred miles away.

What would bechance at Lyonnesse
       While I should sojourn there
       No prophet durst declare,
Nor did the wisest wizard guess
What would bechance at Lyonnesse
       While I should sojourn there.

When I came back from Lyonnesse
       With magic in my eyes,
       All marked with mute surmise
My radiance rare and fathomless,
When I came back from Lyonnesse
       With magic in my eyes!