I left it there, And sought for recreative rest in scenes That once had charmed me--in society Where I was welcome: but the common talk Of daily news--of politics and trade-- Was senseless as the chatter of the jays In autumn forests. No refreshing balm Came to me in the sympathy of men. In my retirement, I had left the world To go its way; and it had gone its way, And left me hopelessly. I told my wife Of my dissatisfaction and disgust, But found small comfort in her words. She said: "The world is wide, and woman's vision short; But I have never seen a man who turned His efforts from his kind, and failed to spoil All men for him--himself, indeed, for them; And he who gives nor sympathy nor aid To the poor race from which he seeks such boon Must be rejoiced if it be generous; Content, if it be just. Society Is a grand scheme of service and return. We give and take; and he who gives the most, In ways directest, wins the best reward." By purpose, I closed eyes upon my work For many weeks, resisting every day The impulse to review the glowing dream My fancy had engendered: for I wished To go with faculty and fancy cooled To its perusal. I had strong desire, So far as in me lay, to see the work With the world's eyes, for reasons--ah! I shrink From writing them! All men are sometimes weak, And some are inconsistent with their wills. If I were one of these, think not I failed To justify my weakness to myself, In ways that saved my pride. Yet this was true; I had an honest wish to learn how far My work of heat had power to re-inspire The soul that wrought it, and how well my verse Had clothed and kept the creature of my thought; For memory still retained the loveliness That filled the fresh conceit. When, in good time. Rest and diversion had performed their work, And the long fever of my brain was gone, I broached my feast, first making fast my door. That so no eye should mark my greedy joy Or my grimaces,--doubtful of the fate That waited expectation. It were vain To try, in these tame words, to paint the pang, The faintness and the chill, which overwhelmed My disappointed heart. My welded thoughts Which, in their whitest heat, had bent and bound My language to themselves, imparting grace To stiffest words, and meanings fresh and fine To simplest phrases, interfusing all With their own ardency, and shining through With smoothly rounded beauty, lay in heaps Of cold, unmeaning ugliness. My words Had shrunk to old proportions, and stood out In hard, stiff angles, challenging a guess Of what they covered.