"For who could blame or who could praise
If one should choose to pass his days
In a phantasy of dreams,
And, finding thus his own ideal
In things dissevered from the real,
Be happier than he seems?
"Ah! who could praise or who could blame,
Tho' glimmers all my way the same,
Like a dyke-road thro' a fen.
Far on, far on—a ruddy spark—