Xlix

"The roads I paced, I loitered through the fields; Contentedly, yet sometimes self-accused, Trusted my life to what chance bounty yields, Now coldly given, now utterly refused. The ground I for my bed have often used: But what afflicts my peace with keenest ruth, Is that I have my inner self abused, Forgone the home delight of constant truth, And clear and open soul, so prized in fearless youth.