And the most difficult of tasks to keep Heights which the soul is competent to gain.

A power is passing from the earth.

In this sequestered nook how sweet To sit upon my orchard seat And birds and flowers once more to greet. . . .

A light to guide, a rod To check the erring, and reprove.

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

Meek Nature's evening comment on the shows That for oblivion take their daily birth From all the fuming vanities of earth.

Happier of happy though I be, like them I cannot take possession of the sky, mount with a thoughtless impulse, and wheel there, one of a mighty multitude whose way and motion is a harmony and dance magnificent.