But trailing clouds of glory do we come, From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy!.

And homeless near a thousand homes I stood, And near a thousand tables pined and wanted food.

And mighty poets in their misery dead.

Truth takes no account of centuries.

Habit rules the unreflecting herd.

We live by admiration, hope and love.

And much it grieved my heart to think What man has made of man.