Loses his light; The rosy-bosom'd Spring
To weeping Fancy pines; and yon bright arch
Contracted, bends into a dusky vault.
All nature fades, extinct; and she alone,
Heard, felt, and seen, possesses every thought,
Fills every sense, and pants in every vein.
Books are but formal dulness,—tedious friends,
And sad amid the social band he sits
Lonely and unattentive. From his tongue
The unfinished period falls; while, borne away