The poem
THE happiness that man, whilst prison'd here,
Is wont with heavenly rapture to compare,-- The harmony of Truth, from wavering clear,--
Of Friendship that is free from doubting care,-- The light which in stray thoughts alone can cheer
The wise,--the bard alone in visions fair,-- In my best hours I found in her all this, And made mine own, to mine exceeding bliss.
1820.*