XLIII
But pause! Thou calm retreats, farewell,
Where my days in the wilderness
Of languor and of love did tell
And contemplative dreaminess;
And thou, youth’s early inspiration,
Invigorate imagination
And spur my spirit’s torpid mood!
Fly frequent to my solitude,
Let not the poet’s spirit freeze,
Grow harsh and cruel, dead and dry,
Eventually petrify
In the world’s mortal revelries,
Amid the soulless sons of pride
And glittering simpletons beside;