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.