Far from the world I walk, and from all care.
Babylon, Learned and wise, hath perished utterly, Nor leaves her speech one word to aid the sigh That would lament her.
The gods approve The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul.
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?
The sunshine is a glorious birth; But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath passed away a glory from the earth.
But who shall parcel out His intellect by geometric rules, Split like a province into round and square?