Far off that blear’d path on this ending tract; no foresight of future, nor hindsight of past; all sense that were present— to be overcast with questions, reflections, that beckon a way through the roof of like minds, now, through all their dismay Look on past there— all around you with care, where mem’ry had played, caught in missed yester-years ere what happier day came, a less senseless way, yet to be ensnared right, had wasted away For time! how it turns— and forces and churns, has left me— confounded in wake of return from a wide-eyed dead swoon, unbeknown to all and with it has brought idle youth and its fall Aww, off that gone path on this endless tract; no foresight of future— no hindsight of past; my life is now blinded, now drown’d in contrast
