Was that the landmark? What,—the foolish well <br />Whose wave, low down, I did not stoop to drink, <br />But sat and flung the pebbles from its brink <br />In sport to send its imaged skies pell-mell, <br />(And mine own image, had I noted well!)— <br />Was that my point of turning?—I had thought <br />The stations of my course should rise unsought, <br />As altar-stone or ensigned citadel. <br />But lo! the path is missed, I must go back, <br />And thirst to drink when next I reach the spring <br />Which once I stained, which since may have grown black. <br />Yet though no light be left nor bird now sing <br />As here I turn, I'll thank God, hastening, <br />That the same goal is still on the same track.<br /><br />Dante Gabriel Rossetti<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-lxvii-the-landmark/
