Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 2.djvu/253

CANTO III.] Why Thought seeks refuge in lone caves, yet rife

With airy images, and shapes which dwell

Still unimpaired, though old, in the Soul's haunted cell.

VI.

'Tis to create, and in creating live

A being more intense that we endow

With form our fancy, gaining as we give

The life we image, even as I do now—

What am I? Nothing: but not so art thou,

Soul of my thought! with whom I traverse earth,