Elysian beauty, melancholy grace, Brought from a pensive though a happy place.

Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain That has been, and may be again.

Not Chaos, not the darkest pit of lowest Erebus, nor aught of blinder vacancy, scooped out by help of dreams - can breed such fear and awe as fall upon us often when we look into our Minds, into the Mind of Man.

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting; The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star, Hath had elsewhere its setting, And cometh from afar.

At length the man perceives it die away, And fade into the light of common day.

Give all thou canst; high Heaven rejects the lore of nicely-caluculated less or more.

By all means sometimes be alone; salute thyself; see what thy soul doth wear; dare to look in thy chest; and tumble up and down what thou findest there.