And this gray spirit yearning in desire To follow knowledge like a sinking star, Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.
A life of nothing's nothing worth, From that first nothing ere his birth, To that last nothing under earth.
Weeded and worn the ancient thatch Upon the lonely moated grange.
Oh yet we trust that somehow good will be the final goal of ill!
Faith is believing what we cannot prove.
Kind hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood.