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How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
I give the fight up; let there be an end,
A privacy, an obscure nook for me,
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I give the fight up; let there be an end,
A privacy, an obscure nook for me,
I want to be forgotten even by God.
Yet still he fills affection's eye,
Obscurely wise, and coarsely kind.
Yet still he fills affection's eye,
Obscurely wise, and coarsely kind.
Some write their wrongs in marble: he more just,
Stoop'd down serene and wrote them on the dust,
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Some write their wrongs in marble: he more just,
Stoop'd down serene and wrote them on the dust,
Trod under foot, the sport of every wind,
Swept from the earth and blotted from his mind,
There, secret in the grave, he bade them lie,
And grieved they could not 'scape the Almighty eye.
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A maid whom there were none read more
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love.
Yet was he but a squire of low degree.
Yet was he but a squire of low degree.
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air.
Like beauteous flowers which vainly waste their scent
Of odours in unhaunted deserts.
Like beauteous flowers which vainly waste their scent
Of odours in unhaunted deserts.
