Chapter LXI

The rivulets, the earth, the skies, the motion
Whose substance varies to a higher change,
The clouds, the woods, the mountains, and the ocean
Whose endless blue defies the fancy’s range,
The sun, and the calm host that guide the night
Throughout the seasons of the changeful year,
The warmth, the snow, the music, and the bright
Foliage that quivers to the songsters’ cheer;
And the swift thought that wings its measureless way
(Though clogg’d with self, it feels but how it fails,)
Just to the confines of eternal day,
In outer orbit whirl’d it pines, and sails;
And more than these, Love, Beauty, Reason, Joy.
All these are life, but self’s a half-formed toy.