Earth has not anything to show more fair.
What know we of the Blest above but that they sing, and that they love?
Books are yours, Within whose silent chambers treasure lies Preserved from age to age; more precious far Than that accumulated store of gold And orient gems, which, for a day of need, The Sultan hides deep in ancestral tombs. These hoards of truth you can unlock at will.
How fast has brother followed brother, From sunshine to the sunless land!
A happy youth, and their old age Is beautiful and free.
A lake carries you into recesses of feeling otherwise impenetrable.