I will not urge a revelation, mercies, miracles, and martyrs,
But, after twice a thousand years, go, learn thou of the pagan:
It were happier and wiser even among fools, to cling to the shadow of a hope,
Than, in the company of sages, to win the substance of despair;
But here, the sages hope; despair is with the fools,
The base bad hearts, the stolid heads, the sensual and the selfish.
And wilt thou, sorry scorner, mock the phrase, despair?
Despair for those who die and live,—for me, I live and die:
What have I to do with dread?—my taper must go out;—
I nurse no silly hopes, and therefore feel no fears: