Far from the world I walk, and from all care.
Rest and be thankful.
Let Nature be your teacher
Yet tears to human suffering are due; And mortal hopes defeated and o'erthrown Are mourned by man, and not by man alone.
That inward eye/ Which is the bliss of solitude.
Oh, blank confusion! true epitome Of what the mighty City is herself, To thousands upon thousands of her sons, Living amid the same perpetual whirl Of trivial objects, melted and reduced To one identity.