desire. I roam, where little pleasures fall, As morn to morn succeeds, To melt, or ere the sweetness pall, Like glittering manna-beads. The wishes dawning in the eyes, The softly murmured thanks; The zeal of those that miss the prize On clamorous river-banks; The quenchless hope, the honest choice, The self-reliant pride, The music of the pleading voice That will not be denied; The wonder flushing in the cheek, The questions many a score, When I grow eloquent, and speak Of England, and of war—       Oh, better than the world of dress And pompous dining, out, Better than simpering and finesse Is all this stir and rout. I'll borrow life, and not grow old; And nightingales and trees Shall keep me, though the veins be cold, As young as Sophocles. And when I may no longer live, They'll say, who know the truth, He gave whatever he had to give To freedom and to youth. 

  

       PROSPERO     

      Farewell, my airy pursuivants, farewell. We part to-day, and I resign This lonely island, and this rocky cell, And all that hath been mine.       "Ah, whither go we? Why not follow thee, Our human king, across the wave, The man that rescued us from rifted tree, Bleak marsh, and howling cave."       Oh no. The wand I wielded then is buried, Broken, and buried in the sand. Oh no. By mortal hands I must be ferried Unto the Tuscan strand. You came to cheer my exile, and to lift The weight of silence off my lips:      With you I ruled the clouds, and ocean-drift, Meteors, and wandering ships. Your fancies glinting on my central mind Fell off in beams of many hues, Soft lambent light. Yet, severed from mankind, Not light, but heat, I lose. I go, before my heart be chilled. Behold, The bark that bears me waves her flag, To chide my loitering. Back to your mountain-hold, And flee the tyrant hag. Away. I hear your little voices sinking Into the wood-notes of the breeze:      I hear you say: "Enough, enough of thinking; Love lies beyond the seas." 

  

       AMATURUS     

      Somewhere beneath the sun, These quivering heart-strings prove it, Somewhere there must be one Made for this soul, to move it; Some one that hides her sweetness From neighbours whom she slights, Nor can attain completeness, Nor 

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