And I am happy when I sing.
The unconquerable pang of despised love.
Open-mindedness is the harvest of a quiet eye.
And homeless near a thousand homes I stood, And near a thousand tables pined and wanted food.
On a fair prospect some have looked, And felt, as I have heard them say, As if the moving time had been A thing as steadfast as the scene On which they gazed themselves away.
Like thoughts whose very sweetness yielded proof that they were born for immortality.