metonymy4u

I tempt not what with fate should not be tempted,
thus upon a morning soft and rosy painted
I ran round the city gate with your love
and there met one who seemed a traveler with a face
distracted by lands of many cares, dust of late
driven horrors in itineraries better never
seen, never wholly contemplated.
I thought what can be this mystery clear
what does it wish, where will it wander
in times abroad that we have yet to bear and
in what carpeted dream of nights, oil
lit shores of far off lands—what wishes, what wants,
what caprice, what loves with love presented
shall it hold dear?