Inspiration is needed in geometry, just as much as in poetry.

Upon the brink of the wild streamHe stood, and dreamt a mighty dream.

The illusion which exalts us is dearer to us then ten-thousand truths.

Ecstasy is a glassful of tea and a piece of sugar in the mouth.

Upon the brink of the wild stream He stood, and dreamt a mighty dream.

And once more given to inaction,
Empty in spirit and alone,
He settled down – to the distraction
Of making other minds his own;
Collecting books, he stacked a shelfful,
Read, read, not even one was helpful:
Here, there was dullness, there pretence;
This one lacked conscience, that one sense;
All were by different shackles fettered;
And, past times having lost their hold,
The new still raved about the old.
Like women, books he now deserted,
And mourning taffeta he drew
Across the bookshelf’s dusty crew.