Beneath the blaze of a tropical sun the mountain peaks are 30
the Thrones of Frost, through the absence of objects to reflect
the rays. 'What no one with us shares, seems scarce our own.'
The presence of a one,

The best belov'd, who loveth me the best,

is for the heart, what the supporting air from within is for the 35
hollow globe with its suspended car. Deprive it of this, and
all without, that would have buoyed it aloft even to the seat
of the gods, becomes a burthen and crushes it into flatness.

2

The finer the sense for the beautiful and the lovely, and the
fairer and lovelier the object presented to the sense; the more 40
exquisite the individual's capacity of joy, and the more ample
his means and opportunities of enjoyment, the more heavily
will he feel the ache of solitariness, the more unsubstantial
becomes the feast spread around him. What matters it,
whether in fact the viands and the ministering graces are [45]
shadowy or real, to him who has not hand to grasp nor arms
to embrace them?

3

Imagination; honourable aims;
Free commune with the choir that cannot die;
Science and song; delight in little things, [50]
The buoyant child surviving in the man;
Fields, forests, ancient mountains, ocean, sky,
With all their voices—O dare I accuse
My earthly lot as guilty of my spleen,
Or call my destiny niggard! O no! no! [55]
It is her largeness, and her overflow,
Which being incomplete, disquieteth me so!

4

For never touch of gladness stirs my heart,
But tim'rously beginning to rejoice
Like a blind Arab, that from sleep doth start [60]
In lonesome tent, I listen for thy voice.
[[397]]Belovéd! 'tis not thine; thou art not there!
Then melts the bubble into idle air,
And wishing without hope I restlessly despair.

5