Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes
To pace the ground, if path there be or none,
While a fair region round the Traveller lies
Which he forbears again to look upon;
Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene
The work of Fancy, or some happy tone
Of meditation, slipping in between
The beauty coming and the beauty gone.
--If Thought and Love desert us, from that day
Let us break off all commerce with the Muse:
With Thought and Love companions of our way--
Whate'er the senses take or may refuse,--
The Mind's internal heaven shall shed her dews
Of inspiration on the humblest lay.