I await The favored hour, to pass again Within thine asphodelian gate, Beyond the miseries of men; To find old pleasures, long since gone, Perchance as vivid as of yore, Or else to sleep,life's curtains drawn, And reawaken ... nevermore.

And what suggestions of health, and rectitude, and felicity rose from productive Nature, who fell asleep beneath the dew of night solely that she might reawaken in triumph, ever and ever rejuvenated by life's torrent, which streams even through the dust of her paths.