Never to blend our pleasure or our pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.
And when the stream Which overflowed the soul was passed away, A consciousness remained that it had left Deposited upon the silent shore Of memory images and precious thoughts That shall not die, and cannot be destroyed.
Bright gem instinct with music, vocal spark.
A lake carries you into recesses of feeling otherwise impenetrable.
Like an army defeated the snow hath retreated.
One with more of soul in his face than words on his tongue.