Sonnet XX

When in the widening circle of

To a new flesh my travelled soul shall come,

And try again the unremembered

With the old sadness for the immortal home,

Shall I revisit these same differing

And cull the old new flowers with the same sense,

That some small breath of foiled remembrance yields,

Of more age than my days in this pretence?

Shall I again regret strange faces

Of which the present memory is

And but in unseen bulks of vagueness

Out of the closed sea and black night of Thought?  Were thy face one, what sweetness will't not be,  Though by blind feeling, to remember thee!