Of all the sovereignty thine eyes obtain,
Thy grant of vision from the royal sun,
And all thine appanage of lordly dream,
The dust, wherewith the worm is parcener,
Waits with perennial claim, nor will resign
Its right in thee. All glories and all gleams,
The seven splendors that inform the light,
And beauties immemorial as the moon,
Robing the barren world—all which thine eyes
Hold for inheritance, at length shall fill
The blindness and oblivion of the grave,
And leave it dark.

With dustiness and night
Upon thy mouth of stary proud desire,
With slumber for thy dreams, thou wilt repose,
Nor startle when the lazy, loitering worm
Is slow to leave the tavern of thy brain.