Though thou wert scattered to the wind, Yet is there plenty of the kind.
Cleave ever to the sunnier side of doubt.
I envy not in any moods The captive void of noble rage, The linnet born within the cage, That never knew the summer woods.
Beauty and anguish walking hand in hand the downward slope to death.
And statesmen at her council met Who knew the seasons, when to take Occasion by the hand, and make The bounds of freedom wider yet.
Blind and naked ignorance delivers brawling judgments, unashamed, on all things all day long