But an old age serene and bright, And lovely as a Lapland night, Shall lead thee to thy grave.
Hence in a season of calm weather Though inland far we be, Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither,
Thou unassuming common-place Of Nature, with that homely face.
This city now doth, like a garment, wear The beauty of the morning; silent bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres and temples lie Open unto the fields and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
A multitude of causes unknown to former times are now acting with a combined force to blunt the discriminating powers of the mind, and unfitting it for all voluntary exertion to reduce it to a state of almost savage torpor.
We poets in our youth begin in gladness; But thereof comes in the end despondency and madness.
we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things.
Have I not reason to lament What Man has made of Man?
I was the Dreamer, they the Dream; I roam'd Delighted, through the motley spectacle; Gowns grave or gaudy, Doctors, Students, Streets, Lamps, Gateways, Flocks of Churches, Courts and Towers:
There is a comfort in the strength of love; 'Twill make a thing endurable, which else Would overset the brain, or break the heart: