Home comforts, the miseries of style, the cobweb lines of etiquette,
The hollowness of courtesies, and substance of deceits,—idleness, business, and pastime,—
The multitude of matters to be done, the when, and where, and how,
And varying shades of character, to do, undo, or miss them,—
All these, and many more alike, thick converging fancies,
Flit in throngs about my theme, as honey-bees at even to their hive.
Find an end, or make one: these seeds are dragon's teeth:
Sown thoughts grow to things, and fill that field, the world:
Many wise have gone before, and used the sickle well;
Who can find a corner now, where none have bound the sheaves?