Part of my soul I seek thee, and claim thee my other half
With thee conversing I forget all time.
With ruin upon ruin, rout on rout, Confusion worse confounded.
O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon, Irrecoverably dark, total eclipse Without all hope of day!
Anon out of the earth a fabric huge Rose, like an exhalation.
What needs my Shakespeare for his honour'd bones,- The labour of an age in piled stones? Or that his hallow'd relics should be hid Under a star-y-pointing pyramid? Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name?