And I, whose slave am I, The shaken head, the arm that creepeth by, Staff-crutchèd, like to fall? TALTHYBIUS.

We are all one with Natureevery breeze Stealeth about the chambers of the soul, Haunting their rest with sounds of joy or dole; And every cloud that creepeth from the seas, Traileth its shade o'er human sympathies.

every wanton and foolish professor, that will be stopt by anything, kept back by anything, that scarce runneth so fast heavenward as a snail creepeth on the ground?

And carry forth thy dead unto the marge Of the great sea; bear it into the flood, Braving the cold that creepeth to thy heart, And lay thy coffin as an ark of hope Upon the billows of the infinite sea.