Is It So Small A Thing To

Tis Not To See The World As From A Height, With Rapt Prophetic Eyes, And Heart Profoundly Stirred; And Weep, And Feel The Fullness Of The Past, The Years That Are Not More.

And Amongst Us One, Who Most Has Suffer'd, Takes Dejectedly His Seat Upon The Intellectual Throne.

Alas! Is Even Love Too Weak To Unlock The Heart, And Let It Speak?

And Each Day Brings It's Pretty Dust, Our Soon-choked Souls To Fll And We Forget Because We Must, And Not Because We Will.

And Thou, Who Didst The Stars And Sunbeams Know, Self-school'd, Self-scann'd, Self-honour'd, Self-secure, Didst Tread On Earth Unguess'd At. Better So! All Pains The Immortal Spirit Must Endure, All Weakness Which Impairs, All Griefs Which Bow, Find Their Sole Speech In That Victorious Brow.