The light that never was, on sea or land; The consecration, and the Poet's dream.

Habit rules the unreflecting herd.

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

Like thoughts whose very sweetness yielded proof that they were born for immortality.

Type of the wise who soar but never roam, True to the kindred points of heaven and home.

Blessings be with them, and eternal praise, Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares!- The Poets, who on earth have made us heirs Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays.

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