  A A palace richly furnished is the mind, In whose fair chambers we may walk at will; And in its cloistered calm, serene and still, Continual delight and comfort find. Not only fretful cares we leave behind, But restless happiness, and hopes that fill The eager soul with too much light, until Eyes dazzled see less wisely than the blind. So perfect is the joy we find therein, No pleasures of the outer world compare With the divine repose so gladly sought; When from the wearying world we turn to win High mental solitude, and cherish there |
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