Trust me not at all, or all in all.

What was once to me mere matter of the fancy now has grown the vast necessity of heart and life.

I sometimes hold it half a sin To put in words the grief I feel For words, like nature, half reveal And half conceal the soul within. But, for the unquiet heart and brain A use measured language lie's The sad mechanic exercise Like dull narcotic's, numbing pain In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er Like coarsest clothes against the cold But large grief which these enfold Is given in outline and no more.

Because right is right, to follow right Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.

The city is built To music, therefore never built at all, And therefore built forever.

My purpose holds to sail beyond the sunset and the baths of all the Western stars until I die.

Yonder cloud That rises upward always higher, And onward drags a laboring breast, And topples round the dreary west, A looming bastion fringed with fire.