Canto XLVIII
From art, from nature, from the schools,Let random influences glance,Like light in many a shiver’d lanceThat breaks about the dappled pools:
The lightest wave of thought shall lisp,The fancy’s tenderest eddy wreathe,The slightest air of song shall breatheTo make the sullen surface crisp.
And look thy look, and go thy way,But blame not thou the winds that makeThe seeming-wanton ripple break,The tender-pencil’d shadow play.
Beneath all fancied hopes and fearsAy me! the sorrow deepens down,Whose muffled motions blindly drownThe bases of my life in tears.