The lack of every sweet desire; no new sensation for the soul!
To want no more?
What vile estate is that?
What holds the morrow for the soul that’s satisfied?
What holds the future for the mind content?
Is aspiration worthless?
Is much-abused ambition then so vile?
What is the essence of the joy of living?
Must yesterday, to-morrow, and to-day all be the same,
With nothing to be hoped for?