The happiness that man, whilst prisoned here,
Is wont with heavenly rapture to compare,—
The harmony of Truth, from wavering clear,—
Of Friendship that is free from doubting care,—
The light which in stray thoughts alone can cheer
The wise,—the bard alone in visions fair,—
In my best hours I found in her all this,
And made mine own, to mine exceeding bliss.