Shakespeare
Others
abide
our
question.
Thou
art
free.
We
ask
and
ask—Thou
smilest
and
art
still,
Out-topping
knowledge.
For
the
loftiest
hill,
Who
to
the
stars
uncrowns
his
majesty,
Planting
his
steadfast
footsteps
in
the
sea,
Making
the
heaven
of
heavens
his
dwelling-place,
Spares
but
the
cloudy
border
of
his
base
To
the
foil'd
searching
of
mortality;
And
thou,
who
didst
the
stars
and
sunbeams
know,
Self-school'd,
self-scann'd,
self-honour'd,
self-secure,
Didst
tread
on
earth
unguess'd
at.—Better
so!
All
pains
the
immortal
spirit
must
endure,
All
weakness
which
impairs,
all
griefs
which
bow,
Find
their
sole
speech
in
that
victorious
brow.