Methinks we do as fretful children do,
  Leaning their faces on the window-pane
  To sigh the glass dim with their own breath’s stain,
And shut the sky and landscape from their view;
And, thus, alas! since God the maker drew
  A mystic separation ’twixt those twain,—
  The life beyond us and our souls in pain,—
We miss the prospect which...