And the most difficult of tasks to keep Heights which the soul is competent to gain.
Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence.
And mighty poets in their misery dead.
I'll teach my boy the sweetest things; I'll teach him how the owlet sings.
From the body of one guilty deed a thousand ghostly fears and haunting thoughts proceed.
'T is hers to pluck the amaranthine flower Of faith, and round the sufferer's temples bind Wreaths that endure affliction's heaviest shower, And do not shrink from sorrow's keenest wind.