Of nature's angel, as a child that knows
Himself befooled, unable to propose
Aught better than the fooling)—and but care
For men, for the mere People then and there,—
In these, could you but see that Good and Ill
Claimed you alike! Whence rose their claim but still
From Ill, as fruit of Ill? What else could knit
You theirs but Sorrow? Any free from it
Were also free from you! Whose happiness
Could be distinguished in this morning's press