Sleep winds us up for the succeeding dawn;
Fresh we spin on, till sickness clogs our wheels,
Or death quite breaks the spring, and motion ends.
When will it end with me?
——“Thou only know’st,
Thou, whose broad eye the future, and the past,
Joins to the present; making one of three
To moral thought! Thou know’st, and Thou alone,
All-knowing!—all unknown!—and yet well known!
Near, though remote! and, though unfathom’d, felt! 2200