By happy chance we saw A twofold image: on a grassy bank A snow-white ram, and in the crystal flood Another and the same!
Delivered from the galling yoke of time.
To be young was very heaven!
Two voices are there; one is of the sea, One of the mountains: each a mighty Voice.
And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man.
There is a luxury in self-dispraise; And inward self-disparagement affords To meditative spleen a grateful feast.