PERMISSION
Reading edition
NOT till, fallen swooning at the last Round, heart-broken at the cruel pace, Thrown out useless from my working place Sickness, scorn, and bitterness to taste, Not till hard days have me crucified To a desk, the close nights to a bed Comfortless, and all my gain unmade, All the towers brought low that were my pride, May I seek the silent golden tor, Sleep beside long crumbled architraves, See the desolate glory of the waves Snarling, like tigers on a lone lee shore.