My dear friend, and I have tried to find
My paradise in serfdom of a soul,
I liked them all the odd ways of a mind
Without hopes, or memories, or goals.
Promptly to glide along the brooks of lines,
To enter into straits of chapters, slow,
To watch a foam on the flows spines,
And listen to a tides increasing roar!
But at the night, oh, how fast they gloom
The shades behind the images and drawers,
The pendulum, immobile, like the moon,
That oer the glimmring quagmire hovers!
