When his veering gait And every motion of his starry train Seem governed by a strain Of music, audible to him alone.
Yet sometimes, when the secret cup Of still and serious thought went round, It seemed as if he drank it up, He felt with spirit so profound.
For youthful faults ripe virtues shall atone.
Or shipwrecked, kindles on the coast False fires, that others may be lost.
Small service is true service, while it lasts.
Society became my glittering bride, And airy hopes my children.