Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind;
Those shadowy recollections, Which, be they what they may, Are yet the fountain light of all our day, Are yet a master light of all our seeing;
Where lies the Land to which yon Ship must go?
The innocent brightness of a new-born Day Is lovely yet; The Clouds that gather round the setting sun Do take a sober colouring from an eye That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality;
The homely beauty of the good old cause Is gone;
The darkest pit Of the profoundest hell, chaos, night, Nor aught of blinder vacancy scooped out By help of dreams can breed such fear and awe As fall upon us often when we look Into our minds, into the mind of man.
He told of the Magnolia, spread High as a cloud, high over head! The Cypress and her spire; MOf flowers that with one scarlet gleam Cover a hundred leagues, and seem To set the hills on fire.
Happier of happy though I be, like them I cannot take possession of the sky, Mount with a thoughtless impulse, and wheel there, One of a mighty multitude whose way And motion is a harmony and dance Magnificent.
I am already kindly disposed towards you. My friendship it is not in my power to give: this is a gift which no man can make, it is not in our own power: a sound and healthy friendship is the growth of time and circumstance, it will spring up and thrive like a wildflower when these favour, and when they do not, it is in vain to look for it.
Wisdom and Spirit of the universe! Thou Soul that art the eternity of thought, That givest to forms and images a breath And everlasting motion,