All round the room my silent servants wait, My friends in every season, bright and dim.

So mightiest powers buy deepest calms are fed, And sleep, how oft, in things that gentlest be!

Pity speaks to grief More sweetly than a band of instruments.

Oh, the summer night, Has a smile of light, And she sits on a sapphire throne.

O human beauty, what a dream art thou, that we should cast our life and hopes away on thee!

Half the ills we heard within our hearts are ills because we hoard them.