Poems (Hardy)/Books
BOOKS
WHAT though "the glory that was Greece" I hold In fee but as a faint reflected gleam? What though "the grandeur that was Rome" must seemTo me forever but a tale that 's told,Mingled with murmurs of the dim and old Far sounds of remembered evenings, when a dream Of it, stirred by my father's voice, did streamProcessionary through the twilight cold?Far other worlds have I to travel in: One way far as the morning star I go, Hearkening to shepherd songs of David's lyre;Or some far isle in Prosper's boat I win, By stream, and wood, and freshet springs to know Joy for the thought, range for the heart's desire.