He who would love his fellow man Must not expect too much of him. - Matthew Arnold

Still nursing the unconquerable hope, Still clutching the inviolable shade, With a free, onward impulse brushing through, By night, the silver’d branches of the glade.

It is — last stage of all — When we are frozen up within, and quite The phantom of ourselves, To hear the world applaud the hollow ghost Which blamed the living man.

Ah! two desires toss about The poet's feverish blood; One drives him to the world without, And one to solitude.