One City Alone to Men Is Kind

 Ballade of Travellers
by Charles Williams 

Names are written on maps unrolled
 Of shires and cities, great books are lined
With titles sounding as far bells tolled
 In hearts of romance on a veering wind;
 Yet when the homes of those words we find
How is their wizardry all undone!
 Hardly we say, as we walk resigned,
Through the whole world's towns is the Free Town one. 

 In a seven-nights' space is a new town old,
 Seven mornings teach us the ways that wind
To quay or market, to farm or wold,
 And lost are the ways that lie behind.
 Lucent no more are the bricks, or blind
Are we, and with memories overrun;
 We pine abroad as at home we pined:
Through the whole world's towns is the Free Town one. 

 Ports and the deep-sea boats they hold,
 High roads where vessels of traffic grind,
Hamlets which lanes or moors enfold,--
 None to the heart shall contentment bind:
 One city alone to men is kind,
 That is seen and seen not, and kept of none,
 Yet allwhere hath ever to earth inclined:
 Through the whole world's towns is the Free Town one. 

 ENVOY 

 Prince, whether we dwell in a street assigned
 Or wander under a changing sun,
This be the token that stills our mind:
 Through the whole world's towns is the Free Town one.