LXXI.

Is it not better, then, to be alone,

And love Earth only for its earthly sake?

By the blue rushing of the arrowy Rhone, [17.B.]

Or the pure bosom of its nursing Lake,

Which feeds it as a mother who doth make

A fair but froward infant her own care,

Kissing its cries away as these awake;—[jf]

Is it not better thus our lives to wear,

Than join the crushing crowd, doomed to inflict or bear?

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