Genius has somewhat of the infantine; but of the childish not a touch or taint.
As is your sort of mind, So is your sort of search: You will find what you desire.
Pleasure must succeed to pleasure, else past pleasure turns to pain
Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure.
How strange now, looks the life he makes us lead; So free we seem, so fettered fast we are!
Autumn wins you best by this its mute appeal to sympathy for its decay.