Page:Poems - Tennyson (1843) - Volume 2 of 2.djvu/147

 "Why, if man rot in dreamless ease, Should that plain fact, as taught by these, Not make him sure that he shall cease?

"Who forged that other influence, That heat of inward evidence, By which he doubts against the sense?

"He owns the fatal gift of eyes, That read his spirit blindly wise, Not simple as a thing that dies.

"Here sits he shaping wings to fly: His heart forebodes a mystery: He names the name Eternity.

"That type of Perfect in his mind In Nature can he nowhere find. He sows himself in every wind.