That shapes in heaven its murky shroud,
Hath power to injure mine.
But[307] not for this do I aspire
To match the spark of local fire,
That at my will burns on the dewy lawn,
With thy acknowledged glories;—No!
Yet, thus upbraided, I may show[308]
What favours do attend me here,
Till, like thyself, I disappear
Before the purple dawn."