Roving, Roving, As It Seems, Una Lights My Clouded Dreams; Still For Journeys She Is Dressed; We Wander Far By East And West. In The Homestead, Homely Thought, At My Work I Ramble Not; If From Home Chance Draw Me Wide, Half-Seen Una Sits Beside. In My House And Garden-Plot, Though Beloved, I Miss Her Not; But One I Seek In Foreign Places, One Face Explore In Foreign Faces. At Home A Deeper Thought May Light The Inward Sky With Chrysolite, And I Greet From Far The Ray, Aurora Of A Dearer Day. But If Upon The Seas I Sail, Or Trundle On The Glowing Rail, I Am But A Thought Of Hers, Loveliest Of Travellers. So The Gentle Poet'S Name To Foreign Parts Is Blown By Fame, Seek Him In His Native Town, He Is Hidden And Unknown.