Joy, once lost, is pain

I have drunken deep of joy, And I will taste no other wine tonight.

War is the statesman's game, the priest's delight, the lawyer's jest, the hired assassin's trade.

I love tranquil solitude.

He wanders, like a day-appearing dream, Through the dim wildernesses of the mind; Through desert woods and tracts, which seem Like ocean, homeless, boundless, unconfined.

We look before and after, And pine for what is not; Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.

Narrow The heart that loves, the brain that contemplates, The life that wears, the spirit that creates One object, and one form, and builds thereby A sepulchre for its eternity.