How beautiful the Past when it is o’er,
But with scal’d eyes we hurry to the brink,
Blind as the waterfall: oh, stay thy feet,
Thou rash one, be content to know no more
Of bliss than thy heart teaches thee, nor think
The sensual eye can grasp a form more sweet—
“3. Than that which for itself the soul should chuse
For higher adoration; but in vain!
Onward she moves, and as the lamp’s faint hues
Flicker around, her charmed eyeballs strain,