The child shall become father to the man.
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns.
Not in Utopia, -- subterranean fields, --Or some secreted island, Heaven knows whereBut in the very world, which is the worldOf all of us, -- the place where in the endWe find our happiness, or not at all
Whom neither shape of danger can dismay, Nor thought of tender happiness betray.
A youth to whom was given So much of earth, so much of heaven.
All men feel a habitual gratitude, and something of an honorable bigotry, for the objects which have long continued to please them.