Never Can True Reconcilement Grow

Or Bid The Soul Of Orpheus Sing Such Notes As, Warbled To The String, Drew Iron Tears Down Pluto's Cheek.

So Sinks The Day-star In The Ocean Bed, And Yet Anon Repairs His Drooping Head, And Tricks His Beams, And With New-spangled Ore Flames In The Forehead Of The Morning Sky.

Seasoned Life Of Man Preserved And Stored Up In Books.

But Let My Due Feet Never Fail To Walk The Studious Cloisters Pale, And Love The High Embowed Roof, With Antique Pillars Massy Proof, And Storied Windows Richly Dight; Casting A Dim Religious Light.

Th' Ethereal Mould Incapable Of Stain Would Soon Expel Her Mischief, And Purge Off The Baser Fire, Victorious. Thus Repuls'd, Our Final Hope Is Flat Despair.