Canto LIX

If, in thy second state sublime,

      Thy ransom'd reason change replies

      With all the circle of the wise,

The perfect flower of human time;

And if thou cast thine eyes below,

      How dimly character'd and slight,

      How dwarf'd a growth of cold and night,

How blanch'd with darkness must I grow!

Yet turn thee to the doubtful shore,

      Where thy first form was made a man:

      I loved thee, Spirit, and love, nor can

The soul of Shakspeare love thee more.