Not otherwise perhaps this argument
Won from me, where I found it, such regard,
That I esteemed no labour thereon spent
As wearisome or hard.
III.
In huge and antique volume did it lie,
That by two solemn clasps was duly bound,
As neither to be opened or laid by
But with due thought profound.
IV.
There fixèd thought to questions did I lend,
Which hover on the bounds of mortal ken,
And have perplexed, and will unto the end
Perplex the brains of men;
V.
Of what is time, and what eternity,
Of all that seems and is not—forms of things—
Till my tired spirit followed painfully
On flagging weary wings.
VI.
So that I welcomed this one resting-place,
Pleased as a bird, that when its forces fail,
Lights panting in the ocean’s middle space
Upon a sunny sail.