We die: which means to say, the whole 's removed, Dismounted wheel by wheel, this complex gin,-- To be set up anew elsewhere, begin A task indeed, but with a clearer clime Than the murk lodgment of our building-time. And then, I grant you, it behoves forget How 't is done--all that must amuse us yet So long: and, while you turn upon your heel, Pray that I be not busy slitting steel [Sidenote: Should any object that he was dull] Or shredding brass, camped on some virgin shore Under a cluster of fresh stars, before I name a tithe o' the wheels I trust to do! So occupied, then, are we: hitherto, At present, and a weary while to come, The office of ourselves,--nor blind nor dumb, And seeing somewhat of man's state,--has been, For the worst of us, to say they so have seen; For the better, what it was they saw; the best Impart the gift of seeing to the rest: "So that I glance," says such an one, "around, And there 's no face but I can read profound Disclosures in; this stands for hope, that--fear, And for a speech, a deed in proof, look here! 'Stoop, else the strings of blossom, where the nuts O'erarch, will blind thee! Said I not? She shuts Both eyes this time, so close the hazels meet! Thus, prisoned in the Piombi, I repeat Events one rove occasioned, o'er and o'er, Putting 'twixt me and madness evermore Thy sweet shape, Zanze! Therefore stoop!' 'That's truth!' (Adjudge you) 'the incarcerated youth Would say that!' Youth? Plara the bard? Set down That Plara spent his youth in a grim town Whose cramped ill-featured streets huddled about The minster for protection, never out Of its black belfry's shade and its bells' roar. The brighter shone the suburb,--all the more Ugly and absolute that shade's reproof Of any chance escape of joy,--some roof, Taller than they, allowed the rest detect,-- Before the sole permitted laugh (suspect Who could, 't was meant for laughter, that ploughed cheek's Repulsive gleam!) when the sun stopped both peaks Of the cleft belfry like a fiery wedge, Then sank, a huge flame on its socket edge, With leavings on the gray glass oriel-pane Ghastly some minutes more. No fear of rain-- The minster minded that! in heaps the dust Lay everywhere. This town, the minster's trust, [Sidenote: Beside his sprightlier predecessors.] Held Plara; who, its denizen, bade hail In twice twelve sonnets, Tempe's dewy vale." "'Exact the town, the minster and the street!'" "As all mirth triumphs, sadness means defeat: Lust triumphs and is gay, Love 's triumphed o'er And sad: but Lucio 's sad. I said before, Love 's sad, not Lucio; one who loves may be As gay his love has leave to hope, as he