Home + 

Not the end: but there’s nothing more. + 

Sweet Summer and Winter rude + 

I have loved, and friendship and love, + 

The crowd and solitude: + 

But I know them: I weary not; + 

But all that they mean I know. + 

I would go back again home + 

Now. Yet how should I go? + 

This is my grief. That land, + 

My home, I have never seen; + 

No traveller tells of it, + 

However far he has been. + 

And could I discover it, + 

I fear my happiness there, + 

Or my pain, might be dreams of return + 

Here, to these things that were. + 

Remembering ills, though slight + 

Yet irremediable, + 

Brings a worse, an impurer pang + 

Than remembering what was well. + 

No: I cannot go back, + 

And would not if I could. + 

Until blindness come, I must wait + 

And blink at what is not good. + 