1 Should my early life seem, (As well it might,) a dream— Yet I build no faith upon The king Napoleon— I look not up afar For my destiny in a star: 2 In parting from you now Thus much I will avow— There are beings, and have been Whom my spirit had not seen Had I let them pa** me by With a dreaming eye— If my peace hath fled away In a night—or in a day— In a vision—or in none— Is it therefore the less gone?— 3 I am standing ‘mid the roar Of a weather-beaten shore, And I hold within my hand Some particles of sand— How few! and how they creep Thro' my fingers to the deep! My early hopes? no—they Went gloriously away, Like lightning from the sky At once—and so will I. 4 So young? ah! no—not now— Thou hast not seen my brow, But they tell thee I am proud— They lie—they lie aloud— My bosom beats with shame At the paltriness of name With which they dare combine A feeling such as mine— Nor Stoic? I am not: In the terror of my lot I laugh to think how poor That pleasure “to endure!” What! shade of Zeno! — I! Endure!—no—no—defy.