So dull and dark are the November days. The lazy mist high up the evening curled, And now the morn quite hides in smoke and haze; The place we occupy seems all the world.
I never saw a moor, I never saw the sea; Yet know I how the heather looks, And
what a wave must be. I never spoke with God, Nor visited in Heaven; Yet certain
am I of the spot, As if a chart were given.