Canto LXIV
You thought my heart too far diseased;You wonder when my fancies playTo find me gay among the gay,Like one with any trifle pleased.
The shade by which my life was crost,Which makes a desert in the mind,Has made me kindly with my kind,And like to him whose sight is lost;
Whose feet are guided thro’ the land,Whose jest among his friends is free,Who takes the children on his knee,And winds their curls about his hand:
He plays with threads, he beats his chairFor pastime, dreaming of the sky;His inner day can never die,His night of loss is always there.