Enters the individual, and extends
Thence in a thousand gentle influences
To other hearts.  It is not made one’s own
By laying hold of an allotted share
Of general good divided faithfully. 
Now here I labour whole upon the place
Where they have known me from my childhood up. 
I know the individual man; and he
Knows me.  If there is power in me to help,
It goeth forth beyond the present will,
Clothing itself in very common deeds
Of any humble day’s necessity: 
—­I would not always consciously do good;
Not always feel a helper of the men,
Who make me full return for my poor deeds
(Which I must do for my own highest sake,
If I forgot my brethren for themselves)
By human trust, and confidence of eyes
That look me in the face, and hands that do
My work at will—­’tis more than I deserve. 
But in the city, with a few lame words,
And a few scanty handfuls of weak coin,
Misunderstood, or, at the best, unknown,
I should toil on, and seldom reach the mail. 
And if I leave the thing that lieth next,
To go and do the thing that is afar,
I take the very strength out of my deed,
Seeking the needy not for pure need’s sake.” 
Thus he.  The world-wise schemer for the good
Held his poor peace, and left him to his way.

What of the vision now? the vision fair
Sent forth to meet him, when at eve he went
Home from his first day’s ploughing?  Oft she passed
Slowly on horseback, in all kinds of dreams;
For much he dreamed, and loved his dreaming well. 
Nor woke he from such dreams with vain regret;
But, saying, “I have seen that face once more,”
He smiled with his eyes, and rose to work. 
Nor did he turn aside from other maids,
But loved the woman-faces and dear eyes;
And sometimes thought, “One day I wed a maid,
And make her mine;” but never came the maid,
Or never came the hour, that he might say,
“I wed this maid.”  And ever when he read
A tale of lofty aim, or when the page
Of history spoke of woman very fair,
Or wondrous good, her face arose, and stayed,
The face for ever of that storied page.

Meantime how fared the lady?  She had wed
One of those common men, who serve as ore
For the gold grains to lie in.  Virgin gold
Lay hidden there—­no richer was the dross. 
She went to gay assemblies, not content;
For she had found no hearts, that, struck with hers,
Sounded one chord.  She went, and danced, or sat
And listlessly conversed; or, if at home,
Read the new novel, wishing all the time
For something better; though she knew not what,
Or how to search for it.