Been from my soul to a like distance hurled,
'T were Happiness to make it one with me:
Whereas I must, ere I begin to Be,
Include a world, in flesh, I comprehend
In spirit now; and this done, what 's to blend
With? Naught is Alien in the world—my Will
In the process to which is pleasure,
Owns all already; yet can turn it—still
Less—Native, since my Means to correspond
With Will are so unworthy, 't was my bond