Poem by Charles Hamilton Sorley

Lost

Across my past imaginings
⁠     Has dropped a blindness silent and slow.
My eye is bent on other things
⁠     Than those it once did see and know.

I may not think on those dear lands
⁠     (O far away and long ago!)
Where the old battered signpost stands
⁠     And silently the four roads go

East, west, south and north,
⁠     And the cold winter winds do blow.
And what the evening will bring forth
⁠     Is not for me nor you to know. 

1. Marlborough
2. To Poets
3. In Memoriam S. C. W., V.C.
4. Autumn Dawn
5. A Hundred Thousand Million Mites We Go

Andrew Paterson Lost ("”He ought to be home,” said the old man, ”without there’s something amiss")

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