But shapes that come not at an earthly call
Will not depart when mortal voices bid.

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And the most difficult of tasks to keep
Heights which the soul is competent to gain.

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Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour:
England hath need of thee!
...

Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart:
So didst thou travel on life's common way
In cheerful godliness.

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And when the stream
Which overflowed the soul was passed away,
A consciousness remained that it had left
Deposited upon the silent shore
Of memory images and precious thoughts
That shall not die, and cannot be destroyed.

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I thought of Chatterton, the marvellous boy,
The sleepless soul that perished in his pride;
Of him who walked in glory and in joy,
Following his plough, along the mountain-side.
By our own spirits we are deified;
We Poets in our youth begin in gladness,
But thereof come in the end despondency and madness.

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If soul my look and body touch,
Which is the more blest?

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Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure.

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And I have written three books on the soul,
Proving absurd all written hitherto,
And putting us to ignorance again.

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God be thanked, the meanest of his creatures
Boasts two soul-sides, one to face the world with,
One to show a woman when he loves her!

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