XXXVI. Away! nor let me loiter in my song, For we have many a mountain path to tread, And many a varied shore to sail along, By pensive Sadness, not by Fiction, led-- Climes, fair withal as ever mortal head Imagined in its little schemes of thought; Or e'er in new Utopias were read: To teach man what he might be, or he ought; If that corrupted thing could ever such be taught.
Loading...