I wrote some lines once on a time
In wondrous merry mood,
And thought, as usual, men would say
They were exceeding good.
They were so queer, so very queer,
I laughed as I would die;
Albeit, in the general way,
A sober man am I.
I called my servant, and he came;
How kind it was of him
To mind...
Her spirit rose to such a height
Her countenance it did inflate
Like one that fed on awe.
More prudent to assault the dawn
Than merit the ethereal scorn
That effervesced from her.
Their Height in Heaven comforts not —
Their Glory — nought to me —
'Twas best imperfect — as it was —
I'm finite — I can't see —
The House of Supposition —
The Glimmering Frontier that
Skirts the Acres of Perhaps —
To Me — shows insecure —
The Wealth I had — contented...
Were it but Me that gained the Height —
Were it but They, that failed!
How many things the Dying play
Might they but live, they would!
