I envy not in any moods The captive void of noble rage, The linnet born within the cage, That never knew the summer woods.

But what am I? An infant crying in the night: An infant crying for the light: And with no language but a cry.

To me He is all fault who hath no fault at all: For who loves me must have a touch of earth.

Gone - flitted away, Taken the stars from the night and the sun From the day! Gone, and a cloud in my heart.

This world was once a fluid haze of light, Till toward the centre set the starry tides, And eddied into suns, that wheeling cast The planets: then the monster, then the man.

Like a dog, he hunts in dreams.

Shall the hag Evil die with the child of Good, Or propagate again her loathèd kind, Thronging the cells of the diseased mind, Hateful with hanging cheeks, a withered brood, Though hourly pastured on the salient blood?