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Dreams, books, are each a world; and books, we know,Are a substantial world, both pure and good:Round these, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood,Our pastime and our happiness will grow.There do I find a never-failing storeOf personal themes, and such as I love best;Matter wherein right voluble I am:Two will I mention, dearer than the rest;The gentle Lady, married to the Moor;And heavenly Una with her milk-white Lamb.
Nor can I not believe but that herebyGreat gains are mine: for thus I live remoteFrom evil-speaking; rancour, never sought,Comes to me not; malignant truth, or lie.Hence have I genial seasons, hence have ISmooth passions, smooth discourse, and joyous thought:And thus from day to day my little BoatRocks in its harbour, lodging peaceably.
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