My boat is on the shore, And my bark is on the sea.
Though the day of my Destiny 's over, And the star of my Fate hath declined, Thy soft heart refused to discover The faults which so many could find.
This sort of adoration of the real is but a heightening of the beau ideal.
The truly brave are soft of heart and eyes, and feel for what their duty bids them do.
No words suffice the secret soul to show, For truth denies all eloquence to woe.
Self-love for ever creeps out, like a snake, to sting anything which happens to stumble upon it.