And now I see with eye serene, The very pulse of the machine. A being breathing thoughtful breaths, A traveler between life and death.

We Poets in our youth begin in gladness; But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.

The child is the father of man.

The fretful stir Unprofitable, and the fever of the world Have hung upon the beatings of my heart.

Society became my glittering bride, And airy hopes my children.

Miss not the occasion; by the forelock take that subtle power, the never-halting time.

Wrongs unredressed, or insults unavenged.