XLVIII.

DESIRE.

Who never wanted, -- maddest joy Remains to him unknown: The banquet of abstemiousness Surpasses that of wine.

Within its hope, though yet ungrasped Desire's perfect goal, No nearer, lest reality Should disenthrall thy soul.

PHILOSOPHY.

It might be easier To fail with land in sight, Than gain my blue peninsula To perish of delight.