What I aspired to be and was not, comforts me.

I do what many dream of, all their lives

Art remains the one way possible of speaking truth.

Of what I call God, And fools call Nature.

A whole I planned, Youth shows but half; trust God: See all, nor be afraid!

God is the perfect poet, Who in his person acts his own creations.

Finds progress, man's distinctive mark alone, Not God's, and not the beast's; God is, they are, Man partly is, and wholly hopes to be.