Art thou pale for weariness Of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth, Wandering companionless Among the stars that have a different birth,-- And ever changing, like a joyless eye That finds no object worth its constancy? Thou chosen sister of the Spirit, That grazes on thee till in thee it pities...
Public domain. Source: PoetryDB. Reproduced verbatim; see theanthology for the full collection.