I seek the present time,
No other clime,
Life in to-day,—
Not to sail another way,—
To Paris or to Rome,
Or farther still from home.
That man, whoe'er he is,
Lives but a moral death
Whose life is not coeval
With his breath.
I seek the present time,
No other clime,
Life in to-day,—
Not to sail another way,—
To Paris or to Rome,
Or farther still from home.
That man, whoe'er he is,
Lives but a moral death
Whose life is not coeval
With his breath.