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4.

. . . . . .they are of the sky,And from our earthly memory fade away.
These words were utter'd in a pensive mood,Even while mine eyes were on that solemn sight:A contrast and reproach to gross delight,And life's unspiritual pleasures daily woo'd!But now upon this thought I cannot brood:It is unstable, and deserts me quite;Nor will I praise a Cloud, however bright,Disparaging Man's gifts, and proper food.The Grove, the sky-built Temple, and the Dome,Though clad in colours beautiful and pure,Find in the heart of man no natural home:The immortal Mind craves objects that endure:These cleave to it; from these it cannot roam,Nor they from it: their fellowship is secure.
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