profit lies in barren faith,
And vacant yearning, thoí with might
To scale the heavenís highest height,
Or dive below the wells of Death?
find I in the highest place,
But mine own phantom chanting hymns?
And on the depths of death there swims
The reflex of a human face.
rather take what fruit may be
Of sorrow under human skies:
íTis held that sorrow makes us wise,
Whatever wisdom sleep with thee.