Song is not Truth, not Wisdom, but the rose Upon Truths lips, the light in Wisdom's eyes.
Deemest thou laborOnly is earnest?Grave is all beauty,Solemn is joy.
In this world with starry dome,Floored with gemlike plains and seas,Shall I never feel at home,Never wholly be at ease?
And though circuitous and obscureThe feet of Nemesis how sure!
God, eldest of Poets.
Braying of arrogant brass, whimper of querulous reeds.