O noble heart and melancholy soul,
Dwelling amidst high cloudy billowings,
Fair shapes and aspects – thought’s sweet pillowings,
Which make us smile sadly, and extol
That curious creature – Man; they do console
And calm the dreams that agitation brings
In anxious times. I think your spirit sings
To free me from this heavy world’s control.
Free to gaze with strange serenity
Over the hecatombs of human pride,
Where, for the old, the young have ever died,
And still die! Though men must with misery
And grief abide, but teach your sacred song,
Then grief is beauty, and pain is never long.
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