And Life 's Enchanted Cup But Sparkles

What Should I Have Known Or Written Had I Been A Quiet, Mercantile Politician Or A Lord In Waiting? A Man Must Travel, And Turmoil, Or There Is No Existence.

For The Angel Of Death Spread His Wings On The Blast, And Breathed In The Face Of The Foe As He Passed; And The Eyes Of The Sleepers Waxed Deadly And Chill, And Their Hearts But Once Heaved, And For Ever Grew Still!

When We Two Parted In Silence And Tears, Half Broken-hearted, To Sever For Years.

A Mighty Mass Of Brick, And Smoke, And Shipping, Dirty And Dusty, But As Wide As Eye Could Reach, With Here And There A Sail Just Skipping In Sight, Then Lost Amidst The Forestry Of Masts; A Wilderness Of Steeples Peeping On Tiptoe Through Their Sea-coal Canopy; A Huge, Dun Cupola, Like A Fools-cap Crown On A Fool's Head - And There Is London Town.

What Exile From Himself Can Flee? To Zones, Though More And More Remote, Still, Still Pursues, Where'er I Be, The Blight Of Life--the Demon Thought.