That fear our anger and entreat our favour;
And while we are indifferent all is well,
And if we rise to hate all is not ill,
But when we stoop to meet uplifted eyes
Of bright aspiring fools that will not choose
To tread life's inconspicuous middle ways—
O, when we love we bring our lov'd ones woe
I had a son, his name was Phaeton.
Could he be of my being and not be proud?
He was all inspiration, and he mounted