Classic Poem

I go where we lived our early lives,
To Dean, and behold beyond the tow'r,
Where still the old clock bell sounds the hour,
The wall where we always play'd at fives.
I cannot but go, but cannot stay;
I go, but in sadness come away.

As down to the plumb-line, sweeping low,
The pendulum still for rest will fly,
And yet will as swiftly pass it by,
Unceasingly turning to and fro;
So take I from time to time the way
To Dean, where I have not heart to stay.

And there — as before our eager sight
From quick-hitting hands our tennis ball
Went flying against the smooth-stoned wall,
To bound off again with sudden flight —
So I, in my love for our old place,
Still seek it to turn away my face.

For there is the tow'r, and there may be
The wall of our boyhood's eager games;
But where are our friends, and what the names
Of those that are now as then were we?
I seek it for love; but in a day
I sadden in soul, and come away.