Canto XLVIII

From art, from nature, from the schools,

      Let random influences glance,

      Like light in many a shiver'd lance

That breaks about the dappled pools:

The lightest wave of thought shall lisp,

      The fancy's tenderest eddy wreathe,

      The slightest air of song shall breathe

To make the sullen surface crisp.

And look thy look, and go thy way,

      But blame not thou the winds that make

      The seeming-wanton ripple break,

The tender-pencil'd shadow play.

Beneath all fancied hopes and fears

      Ay me! the sorrow deepens down,

      Whose muffled motions blindly drown

The bases of my life in tears.