Twas strange—in youth all action and all life,

Burning for pleasure, not averse from strife;

Woman—the Field—the Ocean, all that gave

Promise of gladness, peril of a grave,

In turn he tried—he ransacked all below,

And found his recompense in joy or woe, 120

No tame, trite medium; for his feelings sought

In that intenseness an escape from thought:[ji]

The Tempest of his Heart in scorn had gazed

On that the feebler Elements hath raised;

The Rapture of his Heart had looked on high,

And asked if greater dwelt beyond the sky:

Chained to excess, the slave of each extreme,

How woke he from the wildness of that dream!

Alas! he told not—but he did awake

To curse the withered heart that would not break. 130