Shalt show us how divine a thing A woman may be made.

A light to guide, a rod To check the erring, and reprove.

No motion has she now, no force; she neither hears nor sees; rolled around in earth's diurnal course, with rocks, and stones, and trees.

How fast has brother followed brother, From sunshine to the sunless land!

Death is the quiet haven of us all.

Where the statue stood Of Newton, with his prism and silent face, The marble index of a mind forever Voyaging through strange seas of thought alone.

The child shall become father to the man.