When I go up through the mowing field,
The headless aftermath,
Smooth-laid like thatch with the heavy dew,
Half closes the garden path.
And when I come to the garden ground,
The whir of sober birds
Up from the tangle of withered weeds
Is sadder than any words
This is Robert showing his anticipation of getting to a better side of the World. Getting a better  Life where the  grass is greener . 

A Late Walk