Not thinking to amuse the proud world,
having grown fond of friendship’s attention,
I wish I could present you
[4] with a gage worthier of you—
worthier of a fine soul
[full of a holy] dream,
of poetry, vivid and clear,
[8] of high thoughts and simplicity.
But so be it. With partial hand
take this collection of variegated chapters:
half droll, half sad,
[12] plain-folk, ideal,
the careless fruit of my amusements,
insomnias, light inspirations,
unripe and withered years,
[16] the intellect’s cold observations,
and the heart’s sorrowful remarks.