I bring fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams.

That sweet sleep which medicines all pain.

When merciless ambition, or mad zeal, has led two hosts of dupes to battlefield, That, blind, they there may dig each other's graves, And call the sad work glory.

Joy, once lost, is pain

There Is No God. This negation must be understood solely to affect a creative Deity. The hypothesis of a pervading Spirit co-eternal with the universe remains unshaken.

Most wretched men Are cradled into poetry by wrong: They learn in suffering what they teach in song.

Poetry lifts the veil from the hidden beauty of the world, and makes familiar objects be as if they were not familiar.