and court, as wife and child appear, As dagger, poison, fire and flood;
Imagined evils chill thy blood,
And what thou ne'er shall lose, o'er that dost shed the tear. I am not like the
gods! Feel it I must; I'm like the earth - worm, writhing in the dust, Which, as
on dust it feeds, its native fare, Crushed 'neath the passer's tread, lies buried
Is it not dust, wherewith this lofty wall, With hundred shelves, confines me
round; Rubbish, in thousand shapes, may I not call What in this moth - world
doth my being bound? Here, what doth fail me, shall I find? Read in a
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