On all the sovereignty thine eyes obtain,

Thy grant of vision from the royal sun,

And all thine appanage of lordly dream,

The Dust, wherewith the worm is parcener,

Waits with perennial claim, nor will resign

Its right in thee: All glories and all gleams,

The seven splendours that inform the light,

And beauties immemorial as the moon,

Robing the barren world—all which thine eyes

Hold for inheritance, at length shall fill

The blindness and oblivion of the grave,

And leave it dark.****

Upon thy mouth of starry proud desire,

With slumber for thy dreams, thou wilt repose,

Nor startle when the lazy, loitering Worm

Is slow to leave the tavern of thy brain.