LXXII.

I live not in myself, but I become

Portion of that around me; and to me

High mountains are a feeling, but the hum[320]

Of human cities torture: I can see[jg]

Nothing to loathe in Nature, save to be[jh]

A link reluctant in a fleshly chain,

Classed among creatures, when the soul can flee,

And with the sky—the peak—the heaving plain[ji]

Of Ocean, or the stars, mingle—and not in vain.

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