XXXI.I am older than Nature and her TimeBy all the timeless age of Consciousness,And my adult oblivion of the climeWhere I was born makes me not countryless.Ay, and dim through my daylight thoughts escapeYearnings for that land where my childhood dreamed,Which I cannot recall in colour or shapeBut haunts my hours like something that hath gleamedAnd yet is not as light remembered,Nor to the left or to the right conceived;And all round me tastes as if life were deadAnd the world made but to be disbelieved.Thus I my hope on unknown truth lay; yetHow but by hope do I the unknown truth get?
I am older than Nature and her TimeBy all the timeless age of Consciousness,And my adult oblivion of the climeWhere I was born makes me not countryless.Ay, and dim through my daylight thoughts escapeYearnings for that land where my childhood dreamed,Which I cannot recall in colour or shapeBut haunts my hours like something that hath gleamedAnd yet is not as light remembered,Nor to the left or to the right conceived;And all round me tastes as if life were deadAnd the world made but to be disbelieved.Thus I my hope on unknown truth lay; yetHow but by hope do I the unknown truth get?