WHEN first I came here I had hope, <br />Hope for I knew not what. Fast beat <br />My heart at the sight of the tall slope <br />Or grass and yews, as if my feet <br /> <br />Only by scaling its steps of chalk <br />Would see something no other hill <br />Ever disclosed. And now I walk <br />Down it the last time. Never will <br /> <br />My heart beat so again at sight <br />Of any hill although as fair <br />And loftier. For infinite <br />The change, late unperceived, this year, <br /> <br />The twelfth, suddenly, shows me plain. <br />Hope now,--not health nor cheerfulness, <br />Since they can come and go again, <br />As often one brief hour witnesses,-- <br /> <br />Just hope has gone forever. Perhaps <br />I may love other hills yet more <br />Than this: the future and the maps <br />Hide something I was waiting for. <br /> <br />One thing I know, that love with chance <br />And use and time and necessity <br />Will grow, and louder the heart's dance <br />At parting than at meeting be.<br /><br />Edward Thomas<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/when-first-i-came-here/
