Sad fancies do we then affect, In luxury of disrespect To our own prodigal excess Of too familiar happiness.

My eyes are dim with childish tears, My heart is idly stirred, For the same sound is in my ears Which in those days I heard.

In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart; And passing even into my purer mind, With tranquil restoration: - feelings, too, Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps, As have no slight or trivial influence On that best portion of a good man's life, His little, nameless, unremembered acts Of kindness and of love.

The unconquerable pang of despised love.

Huge and mighty forms that do not live like living men, moved slowly through the mind by day and were trouble to my dreams.

Oft in my way have I stood still, though but a casual passenger, so much I felt the awfulness of life.

Far from the world I walk, and from all care.