'Twas strange that one so young should thus concern His brain about the action of the sky; If you think 'twas philosophy that this did, I can't help thinking puberty assisted.

My altars are the mountains and the ocean.

They truly mourn, that mourn without a witness.

Are not the mountains, waves, and skies as much a part of me, as I of them?

I've seen your stormy seas and stormy women, And pity lovers rather more than seamen.

Then stirs the feeling infinite, so felt In solitude, where we are least alone.

There is no such thing as a life of passion any more than a continuous earthquake, or an eternal fever. Besides, who would ever shave themselves in such a state?