There are, whose eyes discern the secret springs
Which lie beneath the desert, and the gold
And gems within earth’s caverns, far below
The everlasting hills: but who hath dared
To dream that heaven’s most awful attribute
Invested his mortality, and to boast
That through its inmost folds his glance could read
One heart, one human heart? Why, then, to love
And trust is but to lend a traitor arms
Of keenest temper and unerring aim,