&nbspTo my native place
       &nbsp Bent upon returning,
       &nbsp Bosom all day burning
       &nbsp To be where my race
Well were known, ‘twas much with me
There to dwell in amity.

       &nbsp Folk had sought their beds,
       &nbsp But I hailed: to view me
       &nbsp Under the moon, out to me
       &nbsp Several pushed their heads,
And to each I told my name,
Plans, and that therefrom I came.

       &nbsp “Did you? . . . Ah, ‘tis true
       &nbsp I once heard, back a long time,
       &nbsp Here had spent his young time,
       &nbsp Some such man as you . . .
Good-night.” The casement closed again,
And I was left in the frosty lane.