From book to book—the shadows of a shade.
Life, if they'd search, would show them many a change,
The ruin sudden and the misery strange!
With more of grievous, base, and dreadful things,
Than novelists relate or poet sings.
But they, who ought to look the world around,
Spy out a single spot in fairy-ground;
Where all, in turn, ideal forms behold,
And plots are laid and histories are told.
Time have I lent—I would their debt were less—